


War Crimes and Other First Date Ideas

by Vashoth



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A tiny bit of Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Anal Sex, Bad Flirting, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Copious amounts of truly terrible humor, Dealer!Tony, Dirty Talk, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, International Accidental Crime Family, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Tony Stark, Smut, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson - Freeform, Stripper!Bucky, Tony-centric, Top Tony Stark, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Until it gets a little too real, We're The Millers - AU, and Steve Rogers with his weaponized frisbee, fake family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-10-29 04:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 66,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10846893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth/pseuds/Vashoth
Summary: In which Bucky and Tony break each other's noses, fuck, get married, adopt Peter Parker, commit treason, become internationally wanted fugitives, save the day, and then go on a first date.Inexactlythat order.[Now illustrated.]





	1. Everybody's Got A Tragic Backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is entirely [Ivoughrie's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoughrie) fault. Fuck you, Ivo.
> 
> Recommended listening for this chapter:
> 
> Hope of Morning - Icon for Hire  
> Mona Lisa - Dead Sara  
> Liability - Lorde  
> Dark Nights - Dorothy  
> Dance With The Devil - Rachel Taylor  
> Drugs - EDEN

The email wasn’t a surprise. It was the first time any of his nonsense had ever made international television, so really the corresponding written lecture from Howard Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, Founder and Chairman, wasn't exactly a shocker. That was how he had signed the email. The email that he sent to his son. The one that began with “To: Anthony Stark” as if they had never actually met before.

 

“Nice to meet you too, Howard,” Tony snickered at the text.

 

He only skimmed it, too. Wasn’t like Howard Stark had ever said anything that wasn’t _earth shakingly boring_ before in his life and he wasn’t about to start now. Something about bad publicity affecting stock shareholders, about the liability he was meant to assume as a primary shareholder (via trust account, of course), and the damage his actions could and had brought. But in Tony’s defense, when Bruce bet him he couldn’t get a car wedged between two of the old dormitories on the tenth floor where there were these little matching cement ledges and--

 

The point being that Bruce had bet him fifteen dollars, so he _had_ to do it. Plus, the construction of DUM-E was a work of art. A very simple-minded work of art that may or may not have been the robot equivalent of a flour sack quilt, but hey, it did the job. The old Ford Pinto he’d managed to find balanced perfectly, too. For like, five whole minutes. Which was plenty long enough for Tony to take aerial photos of the feat with DUM-E 2: Attack of the Drone. Those photos were works of art, too. The way the sunlight glittered off the hood of the car made the bright red “SUCK IT BRUCE” really _pop_.

 

It was only as the very same photo swooshed across the StarkPad propped up to his right that the tiny black letters on the screen of his laptop somehow managed to stick in his brain.

 

_‘This email serves as notice to the Shareholder (Anthony Stark) that his current investments in Stark Industries are under review pending further action by the Board of Directors. Should the above terms be met with appropriately, the Shareholder’s portions may be preserved subject to the final judgment of Mr. Howard Stark--’_

 

They were going to cut him out. Tony scrolled back up frantically to the top, actually going through each line in detail. There were cited news reports that Tony knew for a fact had only aired a couple hours ago. There were also incidents from when he was _twelve_.

 

_‘--poor academic record and social image being Ill-fitting proponent to the image of Stark Industries--’_

 

He was referred to only as Anthony, and in parentheses beside whichever role the contract--that was what it was: a contract--and never as Tony. Not one mention of the award he’d won for DUM-E’s operating system. The huge crane-like robot sat in the corner of his dorm room, crammed up into the space like it wasn’t the start of something enormous. Like it was just a stupid bet. DUM-E could do so much more than lift cars, thank you very much. The bot responded to his voice now, listening to spoken commands and cataloging the intended meanings. DUM-E learned, and that was already miles ahead of half the folks in the engineering world. Tony snorted at his own joke, gazing at the bot fondly.

 

_‘--despite the unfortunate loss of collegiate funding for the Shareholder, it is, to the best of our consideration, best for both parties--’_

 

Howard hadn’t even written the email himself, he realized. It sat like a cold stone pressing him down flat from the inside out, carving out room in his core just so he could feel the echo of it. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He couldn’t drop out of college. He’d just found his stride. His people. He’d--

 

Ah, there it was. Written bold and clear across the header he’d missed the first time. Something in his ribs jabbed up into the base of his skull, and he could practically hear his dad berating him for being careless.

 

_Sixty days notice._

 

And of course his dad had to be the one stand-out exception who refused to see just how goddamn brilliant he was. He was most of the way through his first year of college and already he was notorious. Invites to his parties were coveted. Videos of him making various appearances at other parties were dragging in views and page hits faster than even Tony would’ve guessed. Hell, once he’d forgotten to put on real shoes when he’d attended a lecture and he still spotted people sporting the exact same slippers unironically.

 

Tony took a deep breath. The StarkPad next to him still played the giggles of an amused reporter, who was there with one of his professors.

 

“He shows promise, certainly--” his professor stammered, trying to get in a word in around the excited woman with the microphone. He held up a hand like a stop sign. “But he needs to begin to take his responsibilities more seriously.”

 

“What was your reaction when you heard the heir to Stark Industries had skipped your programming class to build DUM-E instead?”

 

His professor scowled and looked right into the camera. Tony’s finger was pressed to the power button before he realized he’d moved. Yeah, he could swing it. He was Tony _fucking_ Stark. And screw the money. He wouldn’t cut Tony off anyway. The threats were always empty. But making Howard eat his own goddamn words? That was going to be well worth the effort.

 

Tony opened a new tab (what was one more to add to the 300-something already waiting for his attention?) to see if Amazon shipped 5-Hour Energy in bulk.

 

Sixty days.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Forty days remaining. Project U was almost live, could’ve been live tonight if he’d had access to the stupid lab--

 

“Mr. Stark--Tony, are you listening?”

 

“Of course,” Tony lied. “I couldn’t bare to miss even a moment of this. Have you already won an Oscar? Or are you shooting for the Emmy first?”

 

“You have to understand.” The administrator whose name Tony had already forgotten looked at him with kind eyes. “It is not just about liability. We care about your health and well-being. The labs close so that students can regulate the time the spend. We don’t want you to run out of energy.”

 

It wasn’t _Tony_ that was out of energy, it was _U_ , but sure. Fine. _Whatever_. He gave the man a tight-lipped smile. “Appreciate it.”

 

“Tony, I know you must be under a lot of stress with the public scrutiny--”

 

“Mm. Speaking of rest,” Tony interrupted. “It’s 3am. An hour later than when I tried to get in the lab and four times as long as it would’ve taken to charge U’s batteries. But thank you for your concern.”

 

The softness left the administrator’s eyes and was quickly replaced with the irritation Tony knew better. He almost laughed when some of the tension went out of his shoulders.

 

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

 

Tony walked out of the office building and promptly back to the lab.

 

* * *

 

U was a success. The being arrested during lab’s opening hours thing? Not so much. U was confiscated for ‘investigative purposes.’ Tony was careful not to let anyone notice him slip his thumbdrive back into his pocket before the cuffs were around his wrists.

 

And wow, he had to say. Mugshots? Never flattering but definitely even less so when it was on CNN. He squinted at the screen. Nah, he still looked alright. Maybe his hair could’ve been better, but the smile he’d given the guy at the station was just crooked enough to be rogue-ish. Now that he was considering it, he could totally work the bad-boy aesthetic. Might need a leather jacket, though.  

 

Bruce’s eyes were kind when he showed up with bail. The world-weary concern in Rhodey’s face was palpable even from the distance to the car and Tony could smell a lecture in the air. One of ‘em said something about figuring it out. About things being okay. He stopped paying attention three words in.

 

Tony couldn’t stop thinking that he had thirty-nine days remaining and he’d spent precious hours cooped up in a cell. All because he couldn’t re-charge U’s flimsy batteries. He needed to build his own generator. His own emergency canister that he could drain in the dim hours of the morning, away from cold-faced administrators and police men with cameras and questions.

 

“What do you know about particle physics?” Tony blurted. He was only vaguely aware that Bruce had been talking. His friend paused, looking over his shoulder to where Tony sat in the back, concern etched into his features. Tony steamrolled onwards. “Like magnetic fields and stuff. Fission, and fusion. The shit in nuclear bombs.”

 

“What do you need that for?” Rhodey looked back in alarm. “Thought you said no weapons.”

 

“No weapons,” Tony confirmed. “Weapons are cheating. I can win this without them.”

 

“Then you need a nuke because...?” Rhodey’s eyebrow raised in that way that told Tony that Rhodey already knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.

 

So he focused back on Bruce instead. “In theory--”

 

Two identical groans flooded from the front seats.

 

“ _\--in theory,_ ” Tony pressed on, “if you could slow that process down to the speed of the melting glaciers, could you capture all the energy radiating off of it without losing any?”

 

“Depends,” Bruce snorted. “Are you talking pre or post Global Warming?”

 

“Bruce,” Tony whined.

 

“In theory,” Bruce acknowledged. “Why, you trying to get into the battery business?”

 

Tony grinned back. “Sort of.”

 

Thirty-nine days.  

 

* * *

 

They’re in the sociology class that Tony’s probably failing when it clicks. He sits bolt upright, staring into the middle distance like it might bite him with a slow grin spreading across his face. He whacks Rhodey’s arm and makes grabbing motions at his pen. Rhodey looks up from his meticulous note-taking to glare at Tony.

 

But he placed the pen where Tony could snatch it up and the engineer started drawing. As the design started to emerge, he bit back an appreciative moan. Frankly Tony’d had orgasms with less sex appeal than the sketch in front of him. He didn’t think about it too hard.

 

The model is rough, but it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The numbers match and the way it flows--well, will flow--he can practically hear the hum. It’ll be like music.

 

“Can I have my pen back?” Rhodey interrupts his symphony.

 

He tosses the pen back over without a second thought, still too absorbed in the rings hastily scrawled on the page.

 

“I’m going to call you the _arc reactor_ ,” he whispers reverently to the scribbling, cradling it in his hands like a newborn.

 

He turns, eyes bright, on Rhodey. He sees Bruce slumped in his seat on the other side, snoozing away where he rests in his bundled up hoodie. Tony reaches over and pokes his elbow sharply. Bruce inhales quickly, sitting up in surprise and blinking. He adjusts his glasses with the heel of his hand and Tony grins, shoving the drawing under his nose. Rhodey tries to sit up taller to see over them.

 

“Wanna know why it’s gunna be called the arc reactor?” Tony practically wheezed.

 

Rhodey hissed “No,” at the same time Bruce said, “ _Duh._ ”

 

“For my redemption arc,” Tony’s grin spread impossibly wider. “And for the reaction it’ll get. Which is going to be _electrifying._ ”

 

Bruce snickered and lowered his head back into his arms. Rhodey’s palm pushed squarely against Tony’s face and shoved him back into his own seat.

 

Thirty-two days.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure about this?” Rhodey had that look again. It was getting to be permanent. But he was dutifully bringing box upon box into the empty apartment as Tony measured the dimensions of the living room. “The lab in the science building has all this stuff already. And it only closes for three hours a night.”

 

“Three precious hours that I can’t afford to waste, Rhodes,” Tony said for the umpteenth time.

 

“Right,” Rhodey drawled. “And moving into an apartment didn’t waste time. Or your dad’s money.”

 

Tony rocked back on his heels and shot his friend an irritated look. “Seven hours spent building this lab--”

 

“I know, I know.” Rhodey put the box down within Tony’s reach. “Far less time wasted than the cumulative of three hours a night for thirty days. I know.”

 

“That’s ninety hours, Rhodey,” Tony huffed.

 

“Ninety hours you should probably spend sleeping,” Bruce’s voice came in from the hallway. He lugged a duffle bag full of tools that Tony could hear clanking about, and had a roll of plastic construction sheets tucked under one arm. “Sorry I’m late. Had problems with a customer.”

 

That got Rhodey’s attention off of Tony in a split second. “Are you hurt? Are you in trouble?”

 

Bruce grinned. “Relax. It’s just weed. Small time stuff. I just forgot to bring change to break a fifty.”

 

Tony whistled low under his breath, but gave Bruce a cursory once over before snatching the tool bag he’d dumped unceremoniously on the floor. No visible bruises, no limp, no signs of external trauma. The red in his eyes was practically a staple at this point.

 

“Still think you should get a regular job,” Rhodey hummed.

 

He’d taken the box cutter out of his back pocket and was going about carefully removing components that he treated like glass. Tony paused, briefly considering telling Rhodey that the parts he was currently organizing meticulously were stolen from the lab’s ‘broken scraps’ heap and could probably be thrown against the wall without any significant damage done. The duffel bag weighed heavy in his hands, so he decided against it.

 

“Yeah, a real nine-to-five is what’ll help me out,” Bruce said sarcastically. “Missing the classes I’m paying out the ass for seems like a _The Gift of the Magi_ situation, eh?”

 

Tony waved his hand and snapped to get their attention back to him. “Hey. The moral dilemmas of drug dealing to fund an education can wait. Building a lab is cost efficient but only if we actually meet the target hours.”

 

“What, is a nine hour construction span going to really give the ninety lost a run for it’s money?” Bruce drawled and Rhody covered a snort with a cough.

 

Tony scowled. “If those extra two hours could’ve been me working? Absolutely.”

 

He still had thirty days. Tony looked at the backpack that contained the sketch of the arc reactor slumped against a dormant DUM-E. Thirty days. Well. He’d pulled crazier stunts in less time. He ignored Rhodey and Bruce’s half-hearted attempts to lecture him on the importance of sleep in lieu of digging around in his pockets to find his StarkPhone. He pulled up one of his loudest playlists and tried not to grin too obviously as he connected it to the wireless speaker still somewhere in his backpack.

 

Hesmiled sweetly at his friends, making eye contact as he slowly raised the volume. Bruce laughed, and Rhodey rolled his eyes. But Tony could see the start of a smile at the corner of his lips.

 

“Just promise you’ll get some rest,” Rhodey shouts over the sound of [Dead Sara](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y8s3crdh1YM) crooning to a sick bass line. “And go to fucking class.”

 

Tony shrugged, letting his grin widen. Rhodey’s eyebrows shot up and whoops, that was an error. Tony scrambled backwards, swinging the hand holding the StarkPhone out in front of him to keep it out of Rhodey’s reach as long as possible but, really, dashing away to the kitchen was an exercise in optimism. Rhodey’d gotten that football scholarship for a reason.

 

Rhodey snatched him by the hoodie and yanked hard. Tony’s feet flew out from under him and he found himself sprawled in front of the fridge. The phone was tugged out of his hand while he was still getting his bearings. Tony scowled up at his friend who was looking way too smug for Tony’s liking. Rhodey’s thumb paused the music swiftly.

 

“Promise,” he insisted, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

 

Tony pushed himself up to his feet and made a weak attempt to grab at his phone. Rhodey kept it out of his reach easily, a slow grin widening across his face.

 

“C’mon, Rhodey--”

 

“ _Promise._ ”

 

Tony sulked, letting his shoulders drop and his head tilt back so he could pout properly at his friend. It hadn’t worked since they were in high school, but it was worth a try. Rhodey waggled the phone enticingly.

 

“ _Fine,_ ” Tony spat. “I _promise._ ”

 

Then he pointed at the kitchen counter meaningfully. Rhodey obliged, setting the phone down in Tony’s reach and laughing when Tony snatched it up instantly.

 

“You ruined my playlist vibe,” Tony grumbled, scrolling furiously. Instead of rough guitar and rougher voices, some kind of soothing EDM blared through the front pocket of Tony’s backpack. One of the really repetitive ones. Because Rhodey hated that shit.

 

The victory was championed by Bruce snorting immediately in understanding and Rhodey’s long-suffering sigh. Tony grinned wickedly at them both.  

 

Thirty days.

 

* * *

 

Even though it took a whole eight hours to set up the lab, it was completely worth it. Tony had it arranged perfectly. Cheap wooden IKEA desks surrounded him on three sides, with screens, keyboards, and stacks of paper placed at random. The standing desk that stretched a few feet in front of the window was stainless steel and had more than one prototype of the arc reactor next to miscellaneous tools and battery kits. Three generators lined the floor to the left, with the wiring that he used to give life to his projects coiled and laced around the table legs, wrapped up and secured near the top with thick black electrical tape. The tips of the cables wilted over the side, the metal connectors catching the light, winking and glittering.

 

He pressed the cables to the circuit board he’d separated from the round of the arc reactor proper. Two of the cables had soft copper tips, and thin wires lead to a StarkPad he’d propped up next to him. When he pressed the tip of the energy supply to the right spots, readings lit up on the screen, telling him which code was there, which program he’d triggered, and the response time it had taken.

 

It was the fourth time this morning he’d gone through the routine. He’d found two typos in his code, but otherwise it was running like a dream. One that he was deeply suspicious of. But the only thing left to do was actually insert the circuit board into the device. In theory, that wouldn’t change the outcome, but…

 

His eyes strayed to the generators, booting it up just to see if it would take wouldn’t expend too much energy. He could sacrifice that. The jitter that lived under his skin screamed at him to sleep, to eat, or do literally anything other than carefully insert the circuit, pressing gently until he heard the light click. He screwed the back panel on over the top of it, and tried to gauge the tension of it. A couple more twists from DUM-E and he was satisfied that the seal was in place.

 

He bounced the cable in his hands, chewing at his lower lip.

 

“Now or never,” he muttered. DUM-E beeped approvingly.

 

The metal prong slotted into the port perfectly and Tony could feel the thing breathing to life in his hand. It was like a gentle vibration, a hum that was just out of his hearing range and-- Oh.

 

The pale blue light that signified the start of the containment field started to shine and Tony wanted to get lost in it. But he yanked the plug out just as it started to whirr in earnest.

 

The grin on his face had to be manic at this point. He laughed once, sharply, then again, louder. He leapt up from the workbench, and pushed his fingers through his hair. The blue glow faded slowly, proving that it was real. Proving that he had fucking done it.

 

“Fuck yes,” Tony shouted, jumping in place like he’d hooked up the charge cables to himself. “Thirty days and I changed the world. How’dya like me now, _Howard_?”

 

DUM-E spun in place, long apparatus held out with the surface of the grabbers flat. Tony wasn’t sure what algorithm had caused that, but fuck it. He high fived his own robot anyway just because he could. DUM-E tuttled about, confused and trying to sort things. Even with the exhaustion settling like sludge in his bones, Tony couldn’t stop grinning.

 

He rubbed at his eyes, feeling the weight of a week without sleep hanging heavy in his skin. ...But it worked. The faint blue glow left something tingling like static across his skin that Tony was pretty sure would resemble normal excitement if he hadn’t chugged his second 5-Hour-Energy of the day less than fifteen minutes prior.

 

The StarkPad next to him was quietly delivering the local news report, declaring the day’s weather as overcast and a little chilly. Like he hadn’t just created a way to generate electricity from nothing. A self-powered battery. A game changer.

 

The arc reactor sat innocently in the middle of the table. He reached out, running his fingertips around the smooth cool metal. The wires were still limp on the table. He could connect them again, just to be sure--

 

Tony shook his head. He didn’t have time to pick up more battery packs, and his generators had to be at optimal working conditions tonight. He couldn’t risk having nothing to show when his parents showed up. As tempting as it was to hear the gentle hum again, it wasn’t worth the risk. He released his grip reluctantly, grumbling something under his breath to DUM-E that sounded suspiciously like ‘see? I have self control.’

 

He physically hauled himself away from the workbench and looked around the room blearily. Sunlight had started filtering in hours ago. It touched the outlines of half-full cardboard boxes, IKEA instructions laying about at random, and metal instruments of various levels of danger that most certainly should not be on the floor. _Whoops._

 

His parents were going to be here in less than ten hours. Tony’s eyes settled on a half-eaten bowl of cereal precariously balanced on a half-constructed lamp. His stomach dropped.

 

_His parents were going to be here in less than ten hours._

 

The tiredness fell from his skin like steam as he darted about, picking up trash and putting it--shit, he didn’t really have a trash can yet--in a little pile by the kitchen island. Bile scratched at the back of his throat. He could already see his dad, looking at the apartment he’d paid for and seeing the wreck Tony had made of it. His eyes lingering on the mug of coffee on the floor near the hallway that Tony was fairly sure might be molding by now.

 

What if he didn’t come at all? He could still be at home in New York, plotting with his lawyers the best way to sever Tony from his money. The easiest way to let the university know that they would no longer be covering his tuition without having to make the trip out in person. If he didn’t already know about his dad’s disdain for showing any kind of affection, he would’ve suggested the man get a smug looking cat that he could stroke menacingly. He even had the tall-backed chairs.

 

He hadn’t even responded to the emails Tony had sent, updating him about the project. He’d attached a bug to the last one that would report back when the email had been opened. Which it had; only a couple hours after it had been sent. That had been a week ago and still--

 

Tony’s breathing quickened and he felt the lightness whoosh into his head at the same time strength was sapped from his joints. The wooden flooring under the plastic protective covering was cool and he felt far too hot. He shut his eyes and tried to focus. Rhodey had told him about some breathing exercises they’d learned in the psych class he skipped last week.

 

Breathe in, count to five--

 

There was nothing in the notice email that had even said that Tony was guaranteed a safe position in Stark Industries, even if his work was above and beyond.

 

\--hold your breath, count to five--

 

It could still be ripped away from him. All of it.

 

\--breathe out, count to five--

 

The classes he wanted to actually go to for once. Access to the extensive library of resources the university supplied. All the professors who begrudgingly doled out advice. Hell, he might even actually show up for the “humanities” courses he was supposedly required to take. Because, y’know, nothing said _I’m Qualified_ like a semester of Intro to Theatre.

 

His friends. Bruce and Rhodey came to mind unbidden.

 

\--keep your breath out, count to five.

 

No.

 

He hadn’t built the arc reactor to be ignored. He hadn’t been awake for a week just so Howard Stark could bail on his son. Again. He’d actually grown to like the taste of green tea and if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, he’d had the Top 20 pop hits on loop for the past 32 hours. Which he was 90% sure was a form of torture in most countries.

 

So Tony wouldn’t let it be optional. He scrambled where he sat to dig around for his phone, checking three wrong pockets before his hand closed around it. The time blinked at him in bright white numbers: 6:47.

 

Good. Neither Rhodey or Bruce would be in class.

 

Rhodey picked up first: “Tony, you better be dead in a fucking ditch.”

 

“Rhodey,” Tony tried to sound cheerful. “Not quite, but. Uh--”

 

“Wha?” Bruce’s sleepy voice joined in, breathy and heavy. “Whassit? What’dya want, Tones?”

 

“I need your help,” Tony pleaded. “They’re going to be here tonight.”

 

“Did you finish it?” Bruce’s voice was suddenly much clearer. “Does it work?”

 

“Yes. Just tested it. Most beautiful goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.” Tony practically purred at the memory. “Had it on just long enough to hear it hum and it’s the only thing I’m gunna be thinking about for the next year--”

 

“Tony,” Rhodey interrupted sharply. “You need our help?”

 

Tony swallowed, looking around his apartment again from where he sat on the floor. His pulse picked up at the sight so he snapped his gaze back to the floor. “Yeah. Yes. I need to… They might not show, y’know? So I gotta make it non-optional. A big deal. Un-fucking-ignorable.”

 

Both of his friends stayed quiet and Tony tried not to dwell too much on what that meant.

 

“I’m thinking a party. Something like that shit we threw during orientation.” His normal cheer was forced back into his voice until he found the rhythm of his patter, like stumbling to dance steps he only mostly remembered. “Y’know, the one where Bruce got tossed into the fountain? I liked what they did with the mini-bar. Mini- _open_ -bar, I might add. A very classy move considering it was a bunch of freshmen.”

 

“You want us to help you throw a party?” Rhodey said slowly.

 

“Not just a party, _the_ party,” Tony corrected. “Anyone who is anyone needs to know about it and be salivating for an invite. It’s gotta make the news. Are you following me?”

 

Two simultaneous “No”’s echoed a little too loudly in the apartment.

 

“Oh come on,” he whined.

 

“Tony, do you know what time it is?” Rhodey sounded annoyed.

 

“Yes; it’s _crunch time._ We’ve got less than twelve hours left,” Tony’s hands fell into the familiar big gestures that he’d started using out of habit. It was a shame they didn’t translate over the phone. “So put on your pants and stop stressing about nonsense that doesn’t matter anyway.”

 

“Like classes,” Bruce deadpanned.

 

“Exactly!” Tony cried. “Now you’re following!”

 

“Tony. No.” Rhodey sighed.

 

“Tony,” Tony mimicked, “ _yes._ ”

 

“What is this about, Tones?” He could hear the soft _fwoomf_ as Rhodey dropped back down on his bed. He was using that stupid gentle Let’s-Talk-About-Our-Feelings voice that made Tony want to gag. And Bruce, the filthy traitor, hummed along in agreement. He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face.  

 

“...He might not come.” Tony let the energy fall from his voice. “Might not show up at all. And if he doesn’t?”

 

He gestured towards the arc reactor vaguely, then shook his head when he remembered they couldn’t actually see him. “If he doesn’t even see that I’ve built the arc reactor, then what good has all this been? It won’t matter.”

 

“Tony--”

 

“No, it’s true. It’s useless if he never sees it--never changes his mind--and in-house counsel will have my tuition fund strung up by the short’n’curlies--”

 

“Tony,” Rhodey interrupted again, less gently.

 

Tony breathed in slowly and counted for five seconds.

 

“We’ll help,” Bruce’s voice made an attempt at being chipper. It sorta worked. Something on his end shuffled about and Tony strongly suspected it was audible proof of Bruce actually leaving his bed before 10:00AM. A goddamn miracle. “I’ll go get some more furniture from IKEA. Unless you want your party to really throw off a minimalist vibe.”

 

A startled laugh burst from Tony’s chest. “Yeah, tables and couches might be a good idea.”

 

“I’ll get some plants,” Rhodey said. Then added, “Places don’t look like homes til they’ve got plants in’em, y’know? God knows you need all the help you can get looking classy.”

 

“Great.” Tony was breathless. “Thank you. Shit, thank you. I’ll go get food and drinks. And work on the invitation list. And get a surround sound system set up--”

 

“No,” Rhodey interrupted him. “You, Tony, are going to go sleep. First you’re going to shower, then you’re going to eat something, and then you’re going to take a _nap_.”

 

“But--”

 

“When was the last time you slept?” Bruce interjected.

 

“That’s not the _point--_ ”

 

“That is exactly the point,” Rhodey said in that I’m-Going-To-Be-A-Diplomat-Someday voice. Tony hated it. “You need to be in shape for the party, or none of this is going to work.”

 

“Fine,” Tony groaned. “Fine. But I’m still handling the invitations. Even if my parents hate me, I’m at least popular on campus. No one has heard of you nerds. You’d invite people and they’d assume they were going to be murdered in a basement somewhere. No offense. Partial offense.”

 

There were a couple beats of silence before Bruce piped up. “Shower first?”

 

A grin spread across Tony’s lips and he was already feeling more human. “What, you don’t think I can pull off the carefully-dishevelled look? Jokes on you--I _created_ that look.”

 

“B.O. is a great way to get people to avoid you forever,” Bruce said helpfully.

 

Tony snorted. “Fine, _fine._ ”

 

And maybe, just maybe, he spent a little too long in the shower, drawing circles on the glass wall that retraced the inner circuitry of the arc reactor. Maybe he scribbled down the formulas he’d used just a couple times more than necessary, checking his math for the thousandth time. But it didn’t matter. It was only 9:13AM by the time he stepped out and frankly Rhodey and Bruce ought to count themselves lucky that he actually dried off and got dressed instead of running through it all again on the fogged up bathroom mirror.

 

Tony stared at his reflection with narrowed eyes, adjusting his hair to the point of obsession and running a hand over the stubble dotting his chin. It wasn’t ideal. But if he shaved now, it’d be all red and blotchy looking by the time of the party. And that wouldn’t do him any favours. Especially if there was a news crew. Besides, like he’d told Bruce, carefully disheveled was sort of his thing. He’d pulled out his best skinny jeans and v-neck for the occasion and everything.

 

He cast his most charming smile at the reflection. All-in-all? Not bad for a guy that hadn’t seen what his mattress looked like in over a week. Under-eye concealer was truly _magical._

 

He barely paused to sling on his jacket and stuff his phone in his pocket before he was out the door and running directly into someone’s chest. Tony jumped back, blinking owlishly until his vision refocused. The guy he’d run into was staring at him blankly, arms wrapped around a cardboard box that was stuffed with thick-looking textbooks. He could read ‘Criminal Psychology’ written across the back of the spine of a particularly dense looking book and--

 

“Are, uh…” the guy stammered. “Are you alright? Sorry. I didn’t see you.” He paused, smiling grimly down at the box he was holding. “ _Obviously._ ”

 

It took Tony probably way too long to recognize the tilt of his brow, the line of his jaw and the pale blue eyes that flicked off to the side uncomfortably. It was one of his classmates. Another one of the socialites constantly on his newsfeed. The psych and philosophy students were a totally different social circle, but just as prominent. Maybe it was the lack of a red solo cup. Either way, the guy set down the box then brushed his hands off on the front of his pants before offering Tony his right hand. Tony stared at it.

 

“Hi. Bucky.” He grinned and yep, that was him alright. Shit.

 

“I know,” Tony blurted. Bucky’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and Tony could’ve kicked himself. “I mean, I’ve seen you. Around. On my Facebook feed, not like, _stalking._ ”

 

Bucky laughed, looking a little bit startled but not like he was calling the cops, so hey that was something. Tony blinked at the hand in front of him again and winced.

 

“Sorry I don’t--” _I don’t like being handed things. I don’t like people touching my hands._ Tony wracked his brain for something normal. Nothing. He shook his head. “Hands creep me out. Fingers, y’know? All out there and waggling and... It’s a thing. It’s not you, I promise.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky said, retracting the hand. He looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be offended. Tony had that effect.

 

Oh, shit, _right._

 

“Tony! I’m Tony.” The words flew out of his mouth a little too loudly. “Tony Stark. Engineering student and programmer.”

 

Bucky nodded, no flash of recognition in his eyes.

 

“The guy who got a car stuck between two buildings?”

 

There it was.

 

“Oh!” Bucky’s eyes lit up and the grin seemed less forced. “Yeah! I saw that. On the news. And, well. All over campus. You’re that guy’s son too, right? The weapons guy?”

 

Tony felt the warmth leave his voice but couldn’t be bothered to care. “Howard Stark. Yeah. That’s me. The prodigal son.”

 

“Ah, yeah. That one.” Bucky nodded amiably, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. “Must be a pain in the ass.”

 

Tony’s eyebrow lifted. “Oh?”

 

“Shit,” Bucky cringed. “Not what I meant. I’m sure your dad’s a nice guy--”

 

Tony barked out a laugh.

 

“--just that cameras following you everywhere has got to get old. Not much privacy,” he finished lamely. Tony could hear very faint traces of a Brooklyn accent in the ends of his words. “And livin’ under your old man’s shadow to boot. I dunno. Maybe I got it wrong.”

 

“Two out of three isn’t bad,” Tony offered. “Not a nice guy, lack of privacy is a real bitch, and if I get called Howard by accident one more time I will personally demonstrate the practical uses of urban flash-grenades the next time they so much as point a boom mic at me.”

 

Bucky laughed again and it was a pleasant enough sound that Tony found himself mirroring it in spite of the foul mood his dad always brought with him. They stood there for a beat of silence just a little too long and Bucky jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the box he’d set down.

 

“Well, I should finish moving in. Looks like we’re neighbors, huh?” he said.

 

“Looks like,” Tony agreed. “I can tell you right now I haven’t got a cup of sugar for you to borrow, though.”

 

Bucky heaved the box back up into his grip with relative ease and, hey, Tony was only human. If his eyes followed the line of the guy’s biceps for a split second, he could hardly be blamed. The way the box tugged the edge of his shirt up wasn’t a bad bonus either. Jesus christ, were those honest to god _abs--?_

 

“That’s a shame,” Bucky said and Tony’s eyes snapped back up to meet his. One eyebrow was quirked and the curve of his smile had an edge to it. “S’pose I’ll have to come up with some other reason to bother you.”

 

Tony stared pointedly at the box of books, trying very hard to ignore the heat that rushed up into his cheeks. “Suppose so. Do you need help, or--?”

 

He didn’t have time to help. What the fuck was he thinking? He had a whole fucking campus to invite--

 

“Nah, I got it.” Bucky took one arm off the box to make a placating motion. Shit, that box had to be at least one hundred pounds of nothing-but-textbooks. Tony didn’t think about the strength that would’ve taken. He swallowed thickly.

 

Oh.

 

Oh, _of course._

 

“Hey, actually,” Tony found his footing, shooting a confident look back at Bucky, “I think I can save you the trouble of coming up with your first excuse. Y’know, since you looked like you needed the assistance.”

 

“Did I?” Bucky’s grin was lazy and indulging and maybe shouldn’t have been as distracting as it was.

 

“Mhmm. All pouty and everything,” Tony nodded sagely.

 

“I don’t pout,” Bucky scowled.

 

“Of course not. Stick to the whole broody-and-handsome thing, huh? I can respect that.” Tony relished the flustered look that passed over Bucky’s features for just a fraction of a second. “Don’t worry, Bucket. I’ll save you this time. See, I’m having this party to unveil my newest invention. It’s sort of a big deal.”

 

Bucky laughed outright, and Tony ignored the urge to list his achievements. “Yeah? Did you get a car stuck between three buildings?”

 

Tony snorted before he could stop himself and Bucky looked pleased.

 

“Nah, nah. No, uh actually, I might have built a battery that powers itself,” he said, and he knew his grin was lopsided. “The party’s tonight. At my place. And you obviously know where I live, so…”

 

He trailed off, and Bucky watched him flounder without offering a single word of assistance, sly closed-lipped smile still drawn across his face. Damn him.

 

“Well, you should come by,” Tony said in a hurry. “If you want. Bring your friends.”

 

Bucky grinned full and beautiful again, nodding. “Yeah. Okay. I will.”

 

“Okay,” Tony replied automatically. “Well. I, uh. Will see you then?”

 

“Sure thing, Tony.”

 

Bucky turned his back and walked to the door across the hallway from Tony’s that was opened just a crack. He lifted up a foot and kicked it in gently and wow, those jeans were flattering--

 

“See you then.”

 

It wasn’t until Bucky had turned around to say so, that Tony realized he’d been caught staring. But judging by the knowing grin and the ease with which Bucky turned around again to go set the box further in the apartment with probably a little more sway to his hips that strictly necessary? He had a suspicion that Bucky didn’t mind the attention. He swallowed again.

 

 _Wow._ Right across the hall too. That was. That was _trouble._

 

He shook his head and forced himself to get moving, taking the stairs down to the ground floor two at a time until he was jogging along the sidewalk towards campus proper. His cheeks hurt a little bit and Tony realized belatedly that he was still smiling.

 

                                                                                               

 

* * *

 

The rest of it is a blur of coy smiles, giggles, and enthusiastic nods. Tony figured he’d wrangled more than one hundred or so for-sure attendees, and had gone out of his way to charm the ones he knew had leaked his shit to the press before. It was like sending the Trojan horse right to their doorstep. Near as he could figure, if he was loud enough they would come.

 

Then it was assembling furniture with Bruce, placing decorations with Rhodey, and fussing over the available food and drink. It seemed like they’d done it in the blink of an eye, but Bucky’s smile still sat in the back of his head, with blue eyes watching him with the same intensity as the glow of the arc reactor. How easily Bucky had met Tony step for step--and Tony couldn’t for the life of him decide if it was hot or terrifying.

 

He’d placed a ceramic pot with a ficus tree directly in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window at the far wall, behind the metal work bench. It’s silhouette interrupted the jagged edges of streets and lights and buildings, leaves curving gently into the hard straight lines. It even softened the work bench somehow without even touching it. And if his eyes lingered on the figure of one Bucky Barnes, unloading the last of his boxes from the pick up truck parked at the curb? Well. That was a happy coincidence.

 

He wondered what it would’ve been like to touch the skin that had been exposed by Bucky’s hipbone when he’d lifted that box earlier.

 

“That should be about it.” Bruce looked around, hands on his hips, effectively snapping Tony back to the here and now. The biologist looked at his watch. “And with ten minutes to spare.”

 

“You better go get ready to have actual human beings over,” Rhodey suggested. “I know you already showered, but a re-do might not hurt after all this. Get all dolled up.”

 

Tony put a hand over his heart. “Are you saying I’m not pretty enough?”

 

“Yes,” Rhodey said, without missing a beat.

 

Tony laughed, nodding and not finding something to throw back at at Rhodey in time, so he let it slide. The apartment did look amazing. The paperwork had all been stored in various binders, organized on a mahogany bookshelf that lined the right wall across from the generators. Their coiled wires were still taped to the tops of the work bench legs, but he figured it was excusable for the actual station where science was going to be happening. There was something oddly charming about the mad scientist aesthetic and Tony planned to milk it for everything it was worth.

 

His heart jumped a bit at the arc reactor sitting casually in the middle of the metal top, dull and unassuming like it wasn’t about to change technology forever. He’d done it.

 

The first ring of the doorbell sounded like victory.

 

Nerves flooded him and tugged at his lungs, but each smile got more and more brilliant. When he spotted a gaggle of friends taking a selfie in front of the arc reactor, he felt that familiar pang of hope in his chest. That image was going to be in textbooks after tonight. The first arc reactor--created by Tony fucking Stark. Not Howard. _Fuck_ Howard.

 

One champagne flute turned to two, turned to three, and there was a cute redhead named Pepper whose cheeks turned the most marvelous shade of red when he reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Even as she handed him another bite of the hors d’oeuvres Rhodey had found at a local specialty shop. Something with prosciutto. His eyes flicked back to the clock on the stove.

 

8:21PM

 

His eyes flicked to the door. Bruce was standing dutifully nearby, looking passably suave in a suit that was obviously not made for him. The shoulders hung off awkwardly, making him look like he was swimming in fabric, but the tall, pretty brunette next to him who batted her eyelashes and laughed whenever he made jokes didn’t seem to mind. He nodded at whatever it was Pepper had said, looking down at his own tightly fitted suit. No stains, no wrinkles, each seam hugging his figure perfectly.

 

But even then, the intensity of the looks from the people around him made him positive that he’d carved out the seat of his pants, or had a Kick Me sign taped somewhere. The easy charm coming from Pepper’s voice soothed some of that, but still he had to wonder, looking at the tweed lining Bruce’s elbows, what it would be like to be so comfortable in his own skin.

 

Bucky hadn’t made an appearance. Which was fine, of course. It was more important that the clock on the stove was now telling him that 8:30PM had come and passed. Pepper had led them to a secluded corner, asking him about his work and waiting patiently as he explained the detail behind the arc reactor. A small gaggle followed her lead, listening in to the algorithms that fell from his lips second nature.

 

As more eyes found him, his smile got brighter, movements bigger, voice louder, until he could coax a laugh out of his audience at a whim. He’d just finished relaying the story of DUM-E coating Rhodey in foam when he glanced around to find his friend. Rhodey gave a patient smile and nod, confirming the incident with the fire extinguisher, but shook his head grimly at Tony when the crowd’s attention had returned to the young Stark.

 

More than one camera phone was focused on him and he was pointedly avoiding acknowledging any of them until he could do so on his own terms. Pandering always worked better when it looked genuine--unplanned. Nearing the end of the story of the arc reactor, he had hopped up on the counter of the kitchen island like an impromptu stage, legs swinging out in front of him casually, ensuring that the crowd kept an appropriate distance.

 

“And you know why I called it that? The arc reactor?” Tony leaned forward, voice a hushed stage whisper, eyebrow quirked, conspiratorial . He let his gaze wander carefully casually to the camera phone pointed at him from his right, took a second to feign surprise, stumbled, then recovered with a charming grin and a wink. “Because I’m hoping this is the beginning of something for me.”

 

The girl holding the camera phone at him was only emboldened by this, nodding slightly in gratification when Tony’s voice got softer, more genuine. He let himself draw on that part of himself he kept raw. The part that he wished could be clothed in tweed and accepted all the same. But with enough hair gel, you could make anything look presentable.

 

“Lots of you know me as the guy who got a car stuck between some buildings.” He let a self-deprecating laugh bubble up towards the end to match the giggles in the crowd. He held up a hand to hush them. “I know, I know. But that sort of stuff is in my past. I want you all to know before I unveil the arc reactor that I’m serious about adding to the value of Stark Industries.”

 

Eager eyes around him went wide and Tony’s tongue felt like lead for a split second. Pepper had shuffled next to him, ducking past the invisible barrier he’d built to put a champagne emboldened hand on his thigh comfortingly. She jutted out her chin at the crowd, challenging him to continue.

 

And since when had Tony Stark ever turned down a challenge?

 

“If it goes well tonight,” he paused, breathing deep just to ham it up a bit more, “then I will have created a source of energy that’s self-powering. A battery that never runs dry. Something that could save the lives of our troops. Something that could cut the costs of living in half.”

 

So what if it was a little bit exaggerated? It was a game changer.

 

“And I’m glad you’re all here to witness it,” he said. He couldn’t help a quick glance at Pepper, who looked delighted at the implication. His eyes passed the still closed door to his apartment. Still no Howard or Maria.

 

No Bucky either, but. That wasn’t as important.

 

“And that’s why I named it the arc reactor.” Tony affixed the crowd with his cheesiest smile. He could hear Bruce’s muffled groaning from somewhere to his left. “I’m hoping this is the start of my redemption arc. And I’m hoping the reaction will be--”

 

He paused to shoot the camera a deliberately dopey wink. “ _\--electrifying._ ”

 

Laughs filled his apartment like light and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Didn’t matter that his parents hadn’t been forced to show up. This would still be broadcast as soon as it was all done. Howard Stark would have to be an idiot to cut loose the new American Sweetheart Tony hoped to craft himself into. He was as good as trapped.

 

“So without further ado.” Tony jumped off the island counter, shoes hitting the floor with a sharp clack that drew a surprised gasp from his audience. He watched, pleased, as they rippled backwards, making way for him to part through the crowd towards the metal work bench where the arc reactor sat. Bruce tailed him, closing in with soft ‘excuse me’s, and Rhodey placed himself strategically to keep the crowd separate from the scientists, pleasantly engaging people who got too close in conversation until they fell back a good meter or so away.

 

Safety first, or whatever.

 

The cords felt heavy in Tony’s fingers. Bruce shuffled in his pockets, drawing out a small red and gold toy robot figurine. He shot Tony a grin.

 

“S’gotta be able to power something, right?” He shrugged. “Why not this little guy?”

 

Tony laughed and nodded. “Sure. Put him nearby.”

 

They fussed about with the cables, making sure the connections were clean, before Tony turned back to his anxiously whispering audience. More camera phones were on him. Enough that Tony was fairly sure at least half of them weren’t press in disguise. Just fascinated students. And honestly if that didn’t do wonders for his ego.

 

“Right now, the arc reactor is hooked up to three generators, and a couple external batteries. When I give the signal,” he demonstrated overdramatic finger guns at Rhodey, who rolled his eyes but laughed all the same, “Mr. James Rhodes over there is gunna turn those suckers on and make history. Keep an eye on him. He’ll be our president someday, probably.”

 

“Tony,” Rhodey chided, obviously pleased.

 

“Rhodey,” Tony mimicked, grin as genuine as it got.

 

He turned back to Bruce, who gave him a single thumbs up.

 

Tony took one last look around the room. Faces were hidden behind rows of people who had crowded around the work bench in front of the window. And really, what better place than in front of the glittering lights of the city to produce the world’s first man-made star?

 

Still no Howard. No Maria.

 

He took a deep breath and let it loose like it might take his anxiety with it.

 

“Are you ready?” he asked the crowd, trouble sparkling in his smile. He pretended to be underwhelmed with the ‘yes!’ he got. “Well shit, we can do this another night. Let’s pack it up Bruce--”

 

He paused, listening dramatically again to the crowd. “Unless… you _are_ ready?”

 

Another louder cheer of affirmation crashed through him like the break of a wave. Tony felt it jittering in his blood, felt the vibrations of it in his bones. And with the energy of it, he turned to Rhodey and repeated the exaggerated finger guns motion from earlier. Rhodey grinned back, and started flicking the switches on the generators and turning on the battery packs.

 

Behind him, he could hear the hum again. It was low like a growl, but too smooth to threaten. It felt like the sound in the middle of a heart-beat. The not-quite thump--the in-between that promised more; promised another. It was pure energy, and the light blue that followed it was as pale and beautiful as he remembered. Vaguely, he recognized it as the same shade as Bucky’s eyes before the roar of the crowd behind him ripped him into the undertow of success.

 

Even Bruce stared at it, slack jawed. He looked up to Tony, eyebrows raised, asking permission for the second step. Tony bounced over, feeling like he might actually float off into the atmosphere if he let both feet off the ground at once. He grabbed the generator cables powering the arc reactor, as Bruce readied himself to yank away the wiring connected to the batteries.

 

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everything in-between,” Tony’s voice was low, promising. Bruce waited for his count. He nodded suddenly and both scientists dragged the cables away from the arc reactor, staring at it with baited breath held tight in their throats. “I present to you…”

 

The arc reactor kept glowing. It didn’t even fucking falter. Tony’s heart swelled with pride. He couldn’t hear his own announcement, “the arc reactor!” through the excited screams and cheers of the crowd. Rhodey had turned off their generators and batteries, choosing instead to stand next to Tony and bump his shoulder in congratulations. Over his shoulder, Bruce’s eyes were still locked on the small blue circle in the middle of his work bench. Tony couldn’t blame him really. If there weren’t cameras on him, he’d be doing the same.

 

Pepper’s clever fingers tugged at the lines of his suit and he found his lips captured by hers, warmth pressed against his chest. His arms wrapped her waist instinctively, leaning her back into a dramatic dip until she was laughing into the kiss. He tilted his forehead to hers, treasuring the way she toyed with his collar. He barely heard Bruce say his name.

 

Carefully and slowly--making sure the camera’s caught his good side--he pulled her back up to her feet. He held her hands, made sure she was steady and managed to whisper a low ‘you alright?’ before Bruce’s voice cut through again, more urgent. He turned, seeing Bruce staring intently at the arc reactor. But his smile was gone. Tony looked at Pepper and offered a sheepish grin before she shoved at his shoulder, giving him permission. Her hands slipped from his and he darted around the table to join Bruce.

 

“What’s up?” he asked in a hushed whisper, careful to keep his smile on.

 

“What happens when the arc reactor doesn’t work?” Bruce asked carefully, voice low enough to skate under the radar of the reporters. “What’s the worst outcome, I mean?”

 

Tony shook his head, trying to tap into his memory through pools of champagne. “Uh. Well. Nothing. The kickstart doesn’t work and it’s just a hunk of metal.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“Why?” Worry reared its ugly head in Tony’s mind.

 

“It’s getting warmer,” Bruce said, looking like he was picking each word carefully. He held a hand up to the edge of the table like one would to a fireplace. Tony followed suit. Sure enough, heat was rolling off of the circle in waves, visibly disrupting the air like a mirage. Bruce looked at Tony. “Is that supposed to happen?”

 

Tony assumed it would be warm, of course. It was a self-contained explosion. He was efficient, but hardly enough so as to guarantee a total conservation of energy. But warm was different than what he was looking at. The little robot figurine that Bruce had placed next to the reactor had been merrily dancing as it took in the free flowing energy in the air, but now it wilted towards it, legs softening and bending as red and gold plastic started to melt.

 

Bruce must’ve seen the panic Tony felt bubbling up in his chest. He cast a frantic look around the room, keeping his features carefully blank. No sign that anyone had noticed. Rhodey was watching them curiously, but even the folks with their camera phones still trained on him had bright, excited looks on their faces. Good. He could still fix this.

 

Without thinking, he reached forward to grab the arc and hissed, jerking his hand back to cradle it against his chest. A couple guests glanced over at him, so he put on his most reassuring smile.

 

“Don’t worry folks,” he chirped. “Can’t call it new tech without a couple complications.”

 

“Mr. Stark!” A nicely dressed young man near the front of the gaggle raised his hand like he was attending a press conference, eyes still locked on the screen of the phone he was using to record. “Mr. Stark, we have a few questions!”

 

“Go.” Bruce waved a hand at him. “I’ll figure this out. Distract them. Where’s the off switch?”

 

Tony’s grin took on a pained edge. “There uh. Isn’t one.”

 

“What?” Bruce hissed louder than he should have.

 

“Is everything alright, Mr. Stark?”

 

“Yes! Of course! What, am I not allowed to coo at my new baby? Look at her, she’s beautiful. My pride and joy.” Tony gestured to the blue glow that was getting worryingly brighter. In a more hushed tone, he added to Bruce, “Like I said. Malfunction should be a loss of energy--not... Whatever the hell this is. It’s not supposed to turn off once it’s kickstarted and--”

 

“You didn’t put in a fucking off switch?”

 

Another wave of heat rolled out of the device and Tony could feel a cold sweat under the fabric of his suit. Rhodey, seeing that something was wrong, was doing his best to casually herd guests away from the table and back towards the refreshments in the kitchen. Still, the reporters stayed at the front, cameras not budging.

 

“Is there no way to stop the cycle once it’s begun?” Bruce said, and it might as well have been rhetorical. Tony could see the gears grinding in his head. “Just have to stop the slowest ever atomic fission. In a magnetic field controlled vacuum.”

 

“Shit,” Tony breathed. “Shit, _shit_.”

 

Bruce shook his head again and gave Tony a reassuring smile. “I’m only a freshman in biology but, I’ll see what I can do. Even if I have to hit it really hard.”

 

He ignored the pained sound Tony made at even the suggestion of destroying the arc reactor and shoved him away to go handle the reporters.

 

“Mr. Stark--”

 

“Please, you’re in my living room. Well, my lab. Either way, I think you can go ahead and just call me Tony. ‘Mr. Stark’ makes me feel all old and stuffy.” He winked into one of the cameras. “No offense, Dad.”

 

“How long did this project take you?”

 

“Oh, a couple weeks, give or take.” Tony shrugged. More hands surged up into the air. He grinned.

 

“Mr. Stark--er--Tony,” one of the reporters stumbled, vying to make sure he got an angle with Tony and the arc reactor’s glow. “Are you saying that your invention, which will alter the way humanity uses electricity forever, was constructed in a couple of weeks?”

 

“Oh, you meant cumulative? Well, I didn’t spend 24 hours a day on it, if that’s what you mean,” Tony lied, laughing easily. “About 4-5 hours a day. So maybe five days worth of time was invested in this baby.”

 

“Mr. Stark, is this project sponsored by Stark Industries?”

 

“Absolutely.” Tony stepped forward, arms spread out wide. “I said call me Tony, not forget who I am.”

 

“Tony.”

 

“That’s the spirit!” Tony laughed.

 

“ _Tony._ ”

 

The voice was coming from behind him. Bruce was staring at him wide eyed. The metal tools in his hands were wilted like bent spoons. Like the plastic robot had been before it became the puddle that was now dripping onto the hardwood. Bruce edged away from the table and shook his head frantically.

 

Tony ignored the next questions hurled at him, rushing over to meet Bruce halfway. Bruce’s hands came up in warning, ushering Tony away from the table.

 

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

 

“Good news,” Tony glanced over at the arc reactor. The blue was getting deeper, more of a saturated hue than the pale, icy pastel it had been when he first turned it on.

 

“The good news is that you slowed the fission process down enough that we’re not dealing with an actual atomic bomb here.” Bruce tried for a half smile that made Tony’s stomach drop.

 

“The bad news?”

 

“We definitely have a small landmine that’s going to blow at any second.”

 

“Shit,” Tony swore. He spun back around, facing the cameras and guests that were now watching with interest. He spread his arms out wide again and motioned for them to back up. They all shuffled maybe a couple feet. Not enough.

 

“I know, I know, it’s stunning, I can’t bear to look away either,” he lamented. “But there might be a couple glitches we need to work out soon and I’d hate to get cooler fluid on any of you. That’s reserved strictly for the third date.”

 

Nervous laughter echoed around him and they moved reluctantly towards the kitchen. Tony’s shoddy IKEA desks stood between the crowd and the metal work station. So did DUM-E, and U. His heart hurt at the thought of rebuilding the robots. He knew they were just bots, but he’d grown attached and--

 

Sparks flew out of the arc reactor, flinging up high into the space above it like the tail end of a firework display. Muffled gasps and hushed murmurs rippled through the crowd instantly. Tony gestured for them to keep moving.

 

“There you go, behind the kitchen counters if you don’t mind,” he struggled to keep the nervous edge out of his voice. “Looks like you might be getting a real show with your dinner!”

 

No one laughed.

 

Bruce cleared his throat, looking at the distance between them and the arc reactor that sparked furiously now, hissing and spitting electricity into the air violently.

 

“Shit. Uh, maybe let’s go out for a soirée, hm?” Tony suggested, pointing towards the door. Guests shuffled out without question but the reporters--the damn reporters--lurked. They stood behind the counters, bent and ready to duck for cover, but their phone lenses still peeked at the arc reactor, not missing a second of the meltdown.

 

Tony watched in horror as the metal table started to dip and bend, glowing red hot in rings around the arc reactor. It was going to hit the floor, Tony realized. It was going to burn through the floor and into the apartment below him. It was going to set the whole damn place on fire.

 

“Out!” Tony commanded. “Get out! Now!”

 

A couple of the reporters listened but the majority remained stubbornly planted. The metal stretched dangerously thin and Tony surged forward, not thinking. He had to do something. Move the table outside, maybe. Just get it away from the people--

 

The metal loosened and the arc reactor fell. Tony had just enough time to upturn one of his tables for shelter before the device blew. The blast pushed hard against the flat of the table, and he slid a couple meters across the floor. Wooden shrapnel from the closer tables flew through the room like arrows, with a visible wave of orange heat following. He heard the glass window shatter, a loud CRACK, and the sound of several car alarms going off at once.

 

He peeked his head over the table, seeing fire where his prize had been. He ripped off his suit jacket and raced forward, stamping out the flame, suffocating it before it could spread or burn through the floor. Bruce was a few steps behind him, using one of the fancy decorative pillows to pat out some of the smaller crackles that traced the rings of the blast zone. Rhodey was trying to manhandle the reporters, physically drag them from the apartment, when Tony saw the crumpled half-melted heap of the arc reactor. It was still steaming, metal glowing red in warning where he continued to stamp out the flames it started. The smell of burnt fabric was thick and made his eyes water. The air around the metal cooled it, and the red faded to orange, which faded to a charred grey as slowly the wooden floor it sat on ceased to grow embers where it touched.

 

DUM-E, bless his heart, arrived seconds later looking a little warped but otherwise fine. Tony saw the apparatus raise and realized just a second too late what was happening before both he and the arc reactor both were covered in the foam from the fire extinguisher.

 

He groaned as the bot beeped in satisfaction, bustling about the lab like a poorly programmed Roomba to spray the spots of fire that Bruce had already taken care of.

 

Tony scrubbed the foam away from his face and shook his head to get it out of his hair before using his coat to push away the mass of it from the top of the arc reactor. It was cool enough to touch now. Tony wanted nothing more than to pick it up and hold it close. The voices behind him reminded him that he couldn’t. His time still belonged to the cameras. To Stark Industries and the asshole who ran it.

 

He whirled around again, eyes frantically scanning the room. Just reporters. Their phones were still out, and Tony had to concentrate not to visibly grimace.

 

“While that was certainly not planned, I do have good news! The arc reactor created more energy than originally planned for,” Tony explained with a smile. “We had assumed that a malfunction would look more like a fizzle-out; no energy of its own after being kickstarted. This? This was beyond what we could’ve expected. With the arc reactor being able to produce this kind of power, the only thing we need to focus on is, well.”

 

He gestured around him comically, offering his best sheepish grin. “Containing it. Don’t tell my landlord, alright?” He winked and the reporters were smiling again, if cautiously.

 

“DUM-E! How about you abandon the fire extinguishing and help me sweep this up?” Tony said, pleased when the bot responded instantly. At least one of his creations was working. “And how about we let our fine guests back in? We still have plenty of champagne and enough science to talk about for years.”

 

People trickled back in so slowly, eyeing the scene, but they grabbed the belongings they’d left on his shelves, or snatched jackets they’d left in the guest room and ducked out again with half-hearted apologies. He could see the reporters encroaching, surrounding him even as the rest of his party fled. It was like watching two schools of fish collide and pierce through the empty space to comb through effortlessly. Overwhelming enough that he nearly missed Bucky’s entrance.

 

He looked exhausted, and had clearly been asleep moments before. Sweatpants hung low on his hips and Tony saw that same sliver of skin from earlier peeking out under his tank top. And wow, he had been right about those arms. Tony did his best to look apologetic.

 

“Sorry, Buckaroo, things took a turn for the worse,” he explained with a weak gesture to the charred remains of his lab behind him. “I’ll find a way to get you that cup of sugar--”

 

“Stark,” Bucky snarled. “Shut the fuck up.”

 

Tony’s jaw snapped shut in surprise. It was then that he noticed the wild gleam in Bucky’s eyes and that he hadn’t exactly _stopped_ approaching. Bucky crowded the engineer’s space, following him step-for-step when Tony tried to back up.

 

“Whoa, hey, I know this isn’t ideal,” Tony spluttered, “but it’s not like this is going to be a regular occurrence. I’m not that shit of a neighbor. Maybe give me a free pass this once? And go home? Now isn’t exactly the best time.”

 

He gave a meaningful nod towards the reporters that Bucky flat out ignored.

 

“A free pass?” Bucky laughed, but there was no humour in it. The sound was vicious and cutting. He pointed meaningfully at the broken window. “Fuck you.”

 

The shock of the explosion was wearing off and Tony could feel his blood boiling to replace the heat. It was slow at first, but then Tony stopped backing up to keep a reasonable distance between himself and his neighbor.

 

“Alright, I’m not gunna ask you again,” Tony snapped. “Get out of my apartme--”

 

The word got caught in his throat. Or rather, violently shoved back down his throat as Bucky’s knuckles connected to his face. He stumbled over the table he’d used for cover, falling heavily on the middle of it and feeling the wood snap beneath his back. A shout tore out of his lungs and he felt sharp jabs of pain in his torso that suggested he hadn’t gotten away completely clean from the blast.

 

Gasping and wheezing, he pushed himself up. Warm wetness trickled down his face and he didn’t have to check to know his nose was broken. Bucky was shaking out his fist and rubbing at his knuckles, still scowling something fierce. He didn’t see it coming when Tony launched himself forward, fist first, and connected solidly with Bucky’s gut.

 

Bucky choked, eyes going wide for a second before he grabbed Tony’s wrist and twisted hard. Tony yelped in pain, tearing away from the grip. He swung his elbow into the other man’s face at the exact same moment he heard Bruce shouting his name, but the satisfying crunch Bucky’s nose made was all too worth it.

 

“ _What?_ ” he growled, baring his teeth. He saw red on the corners of his vision and it took a moment of Bruce’s wide-eyed silence for him to scan the room.

 

Howard Stark stood in the doorway of his apartment, still dressed in his suit and coat, with a briefcase in hand. He looked tired. Worse, he didn’t look surprised.

 

“Dad,” Tony croaked.

 

Howard turned on his heel without a word and walked away from the door. Tony moved to chase after him. Bucky tried to stand in his way, but Tony ducked underneath his arm and kept moving. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it in the tips of his fingers. His legs wobbled and shook as he tried to sprint after his dad, catching him walking away from the bottom of the stairwell. Tony leapt after him, crashing and burning down four or five steps before scrambling to find enough purchase to push himself to his feet.

 

He could hear Bucky’s steps thundering behind him.

 

“Dad, wait,” Tony pleaded. “The demonstration went badly, I know, but the tech is good! The battery still self-sustains, and the electric field around it is enough to power up devices that would otherwise need--”

 

“Hey! Stark! I’m not finished with you! You’re paying for my car, you hear me?” Bucky yelled behind him, catching up quickly. The words barely registered until Tony glanced to the curbside. Sure enough, a smoldering ficus tree and a smashed pot had crashed right through the roof of Bucky’s car. The windshield was broken and--

 

It didn’t matter.

 

“Dad, please, let me send you the schematics,” Tony tried to bargain, but Howard kept his pace steady, ignoring him resolutely when Tony stepped in front of him with a curt ‘excuse me.’ He paused, following Bucky’s gaze to the car, and actually stopped in his tracks. His eyebrows raised and hope surged through Tony’s veins.

 

“Yeah, the blast radius was strong enough to knock that thing clear out of the window from about a meter away.” Tony dared to sound excited, ignoring the stream of curses Bucky was aiming at him. “The problem wasn’t that it couldn’t generate--it generated too much. That’s better than we could’ve hoped for. That’s more--”

 

Howard turned around suddenly, leaving Tony to stare at the back of his head. He addressed Bucky, who froze in place like a deer in headlights. “I apologize for the damage my-- ...For the damage Mr. Stark has caused tonight. While he is no longer affiliated with the company, rest assured that we will send you compensation for this promptly.”

 

“Compensation?” Bucky stammered. “Compensation? I need a car, you assholes! How the fuck am I supposed to get to work? And half my shit was still in there! Half of my goddamn life--”

 

“Thank you for your patience,” Howard cut in, with the same icy tone that had given Tony nightmares since he had been old enough to realize what it meant. Bucky trailed off helplessly, watching as Howard turned around again to walk away.

 

His dad spared him a brief glance and Tony braced himself. He couldn’t breathe.

 

“Dad,” he tried, voice quiet, “please.”

 

The warm liquid on his face returned and he barely registered that it wasn’t from his broken nose anymore. Just saw the primly cut figure of Howard Stark ducking into his own car, reversing, then pulling away without any hesitation.

 

He had failed. He’d fucking failed. Behind him, he heard Bucky struggling to catch his breath with a hand still over his nose. Tony took a deep satisfaction in seeing that Bucky had a matching stream of red flowing onto his white shirt from the front of his face. He was still staring at the empty space where Howard’s car had been, pale blue eyes wide.

 

Tony looked down at himself and took a moment to flick bits of foam off of his sleeves before shoulder checking Bucky as hard as he could as he passed by. The other man grunted, but Tony didn’t slow his ascent up the stairs. He was grimly aware of the guests that were still loitering, waiting for their rides, or just here to watch Tony’s fall from grace. Didn’t fucking matter. There were still cameras pointed at him and he didn’t have the energy to acknowledge them.

 

He paused outside his door, hand on the knob, and looked down the stairwell at Bucky. Bucky had broken out of his trance and was glaring in a way that would’ve given Tony chills if he wasn’t already numb. Tony felt his lip curling up into a sneer and forced himself to go inside before he could fuck up anything else. No matter how tempting it was.

 

The door slammed shut behind him and he locked it without a second thought. Bruce and Rhodey, who had been waiting in the living room, were by his side immediately. They talked about how much of an asshole Howard was, how the tech was still remarkable, that they’d figure something out Tony, don’t worry. He let the words wash over him and smiled weakly at the appropriate moments.

 

He waited until they left to let loose the sob that had been burrowing in his chest.

 


	2. Set'em Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: The rating change. No explicit smut yet, but there's implied sex. 
> 
> Recommended Listening:
> 
> Cocoon by Milky Chance  
> Breaking Up My Bones by Electogram  
> Everyone’s Watching Me (Uh Oh) by The Neighborhood  
> Run by COIN  
> Bad Habit by The Kooks  
> Prodigal Son by Rationale  
> Stay The Night by Zedd, Hayley Williams

 

He ended up getting his degree. A major in mechanical engineering with a minor in computer programming. No honours, nothing special really. He didn’t get the fancy sash or the cords. Just the piece of paper in a cheap thin black frame. The plastic was warped either because it came like that, or because Tony had set his french press on it one too many times. Either way, it was in his way and he moved it on top of the toaster oven so that he had enough room to chop peppers. _Priorities_.

 

Hammer was on the phone talking about something. He was on speaker, but it didn’t actually help the words sink in. Something about quotas. It had been two years since Bruce quit selling weed and Tony remained Hammer’s only connection--two years of near daily phone calls from the man. Tony wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but listening to him talk himself up to his own goddamn employee had to violate at least part of the Geneva convention.

 

“Mmhm,” Tony said, and rolled his eyes at Hammer’s resounding ‘see? Thank you!’ He launched into another tirade that Tony had neither the time nor energy for.

 

Well. That wasn’t true. He had both the time and the energy. But not for Hammer.

 

On the StarkPad he had propped up next to the stove, he watched the latest viral video--some guy snorting yogurt up his nose. The ‘yogurt challenge.’ It was like a weak imitation of the cinnamon challenge. Granted, the face the kid made was pretty funny, but the youthful giggles of the friends that surrounded him just made Tony feel old.

 

Around him, dishes had piled up in the sink, covered in the thin film of soapy water from the half-assed attempt to soak them. Not that he used them much. These days he was able to pretty much survive on take-out alone. The empty styrofoam boxes that littered the apartment were proof enough.

 

“But you get it, don’t you Tony?” Hammer’s voice whined. “ _Ambition_.”

 

Tony leveled a stare at the thin coating of dust over the corner  of his lab with the warped metal work bench and the remains of the arc reactor.

 

“Yep,” Tony replied cheerfully, cracking eggs into a bowl. _Fuck_ ambition. “Totally get it.”

 

Which was apparently the right response.

 

His new work station had at least been getting a tiny bit of use lately. Now the newest metal plates of a hand-crafted bionic arm that he had painstakingly bent into shape were arranged purposefully on the surface of the desk, ready to be installed. The whole project still loomed under the shadow of the arc reactor and Tony liked to think he’d learned his lesson. Or at least had gotten over the desire to make his creations public.

 

Well. Mostly.

 

Tweaking DUM-E’s learning program to adjust to the day-to-day patterns of the arm’s use was pretty damn brilliant and Tony hadn’t been able to resist creating a tiny little blog. Just a smidge of posting. Maybe a little bit of cooperating with the opensource community to make the innards of the arm the most goddamn gorgeous thing he’d set eyes on. The response time had gotten faster than the average human nerve response. So take that, Mother Nature.

 

And it was utterly wasted on Bucky Barnes.

 

Bucky had just about tossed him down the stairwell the first time he’d suggesting building a better prosthetic. Had rounded on him talking about how he didn’t need pity, how Tony could mind his own goddamn business. Tony had all but thrown the prototype at him, snapping something about how the plastic thing attached to his shoulder was enough to make any engineer cringe. Bucky had slammed the door in his face. But he had taken the prototype.

 

Tony counted it as a win when he saw the post-it note taped to his door (which would rip up the paint. God, Bucky was a fucking asshole) that read in thin slanting writing:

 

 

It was the most lively thing Bucky had done since the accident, and, well, how could Tony turn down that kind of challenge? It was sort-of kind-of (completely) his fault that Bucky had been desperate enough to take the job as a stripper to begin with. What with the totaled car and all. Not that he felt an iota of remorse for it.

 

His nose was still crooked nearly ten years later.

 

Oh, yeah, and he was still _disowned_.

 

Turns out the whole getting-into-a-brawl-that-made-international-news thing was bad for company stock. So not only had Howard cut him off, but he had gone on the Morning Show, explaining that it had been a ‘mutual decision’ for Tony ‘forge his own path.’

 

“So you understand why I need to up your quota, don’t you Tony?” Hammer interrupted and Tony’s attention snapped to the guy who’d paid his way through undergrad. “Just by a couple thousand.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Tony balked. The beat up eggs hissed and crackled as they hit the oil in the pan and Tony threw some salt in their direction. “No. Don’t you have a legitimate business now? Why don’t you just get your money from that? Oh, this is one of those street cred things. That explains the tacky hipster glasses. And god forbid you abandon the pinstripe suits. Can’t just up and leave branding like that.”

 

“And cut ties with you, Tony? Baby, I would never,” and Tony could _hear_ the obnoxious wink.

 

“I don’t need you, Hammer.”

 

“Sure, of course not,” Hammer assured. “You’ve got everything under control, huh?”

 

Tony stayed silent at that.

 

“‘Sides, you ever try cutting ties with drug smugglers?” Hammer laughed. “They don’t take kindly to being told no, Tones!”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Tony said off-handedly. He swapped to a new video on YouTube.

 

“‘Fraid you’re stuck with me for now, babycakes,” Hammer crooned and Tony gagged. He tossed the peppers on top of the egg mixture, tilting the pan at odd angles to make sure it cooked evenly. “We’ll figure something out when I make office, don’t you worry.”

 

The thought of Hammer being in any position to influence society made Tony want to dump his omelet directly into the garbage, leave his apartment, steal a car, and keep driving until he hit the Atlantic. And then keep going a little more.

 

But being out from under Hammer’s thumb? His heart jumped a little. He could start leaving his apartment for reasons other than ones he could get arrested for. Could maybe have a foot stool that didn’t double as a hiding place for copious amounts of weed and cash.

 

“--you should come,” Hammer was still going, completely unaware or uncaring that Tony had tuned him out. “Bring a date. You still know how to date, don’t you?”

 

Memories of a mouth hot on his neck and hands that pressed everywhere all at once, too much and not enough flooded his head without his permission. But that mess--and it was a _mess_ \--had ended after the accident too. So instead of rising to the bait, he shoveled a forkful of breakfast in his mouth and swallowed it down along with the memory.

 

“Sure, I date. I’m a gentleman and everything. I even go far out of my way to keep my dates from interacting with crime syndicates. Now, do you need anything else from me?” he asked Hammer blandly.

 

The other man laughed, somehow managing to sound like capitalism personified. A panda sneezed on the StarkPad screen.

 

“That’s what I love about you, Tony,” he said. “All business. Just like your old man, huh?”

 

That was about enough of that, Tony decided, and pressed the button to end the call.

 

A slew of notifications filled up the screen instead, most of them relating to the latest blog post. He’d detailed his latest plating designs, and added some of his sketches to the upload. The site had been getting more hits as of late, mostly from other engineers, but some amputees that asked when he’d release his technology or produce it. He never had the heart to answer. The anonymous cover that the blog offered let him prove that he was still able to create things, and still able to beat the odds, without his name attached to them. Signing a patent form was sort of the opposite of what he wanted.

 

So he left the comments without responses. All of them. Including the one with way too many exclamation points written by the kid that had moved into the building so that he could attend the university’s engineering program. Introducing himself by name to Peter had been a mistake. He was just trying to be friendly for once and now the kid followed him everywhere like a lost puppy. All on about ‘arc reactor this’ and ‘prototype that.’ It was _horrible_.

 

One solitary text message lodged itself at the very end of the notification list and Tony knew immediately who it was from despite the number being unknown.

 

**Unknown Number:**

 

ready for install?

 

Bucky must’ve gotten a new burner phone. His latest brought-home bad decision had likely not taken kindly to being shoved out the door unceremoniously. Or, y’know. Literally any part of that guy’s personality. He had all the charm of a lego just waiting to be stepped on. Being pretty only let him get away with so much.

 

Tony sent back a quick affirmative, telling the other man to come over in about thirty minutes or so. He figured he could use the time to get dressed properly and try not to look like a human disaster, but as another suggested video popped up on his app, he knew damn well that he was going to spend the remaining time perched right where he was.

 

Though he did feel pretty vindicated when Bucky finally made his own groggy appearance, not bothering to knock, and closing the door with a nudge of his hips. He had a large McDonalds coke in his good hand, the other stuffed into a pocket of his dark grey sweatpants. He’d let his hair grow out after the accident (Tony wasn’t sure if it had been on purpose or not), and it had finally gotten long enough to tie back in a proper messy bun. The strands of hair splayed against his head and neck were still a bit damp at the tips and the overwhelming smell of vanilla that he carried with him into Tony’s apartment confirmed a recent shower. Bucky stared at Tony where he was perched, levelling an unimpressed look paired with a loud slurp from the nearly empty cup.

 

“No, it’s fine, just come right on in,” Tony tried to keep his attention on the browser game he’d found, moving his thumb rhythmically across the screen in time with the appearing gem-coloured dots. Moonlight Sonata trickled out from the speakers and--despite probably being the most calming song in existence--still didn’t prevent his blood from boiling when Bucky ignored him and collapsed back on Tony’s favourite chair, kicked his shoes off, and dropped his _bare feet_ up on the desk surface. Tony scowled. “Yeah, no, make yourself at home. Can I get you anything? You just missed the three course meal, but I could probably get the waitstaff to find some champagne on short notice. I’d offer to put on a show, but that seems to be more your thing.”

 

Bucky responded by taking the straw between his lips again, making direct eye-contact, and slurping louder.

 

The game in his hands beeped sadly at the inactivity and Tony responded with a soft, disappointed ‘aw’ before closing the tab and hopping off the counter. He stretched, locking his fingers together and pushing his arms up as high above his head as they would go, waiting for the satisfying pop in his shoulders before releasing. He leaned back a bit and twisted his torso left and right until he heard the cracks and pops that sounded all along his spine. He hadn’t even started to work on the arm, but just the sight of it resting on his workbench made his muscles ache in protest.

 

“So,” Tony tried for conversational as he moved the new components and necessary tools over from the side of the desk where Bucky’s feet rested to sit parallel to the prosthetic. He paused, waiting for Bucky to say anything. Add anything. Literally contribute in any way to the mounting uncomfortable silence that always pervaded these sessions. Not that Bucky had ever been particularly inclined to be helpful in his entire life. Why would he start now? “I take it from the glitter still dusting your shoulders that you just got off work.”

 

Tony watched from the corner of his eyes as Bucky’s attention immediately was on his own skin, muttering and cursing under his breath as he tried to brush the offending sparkles away with only moderate success.

 

“Is glitter the sign of a good night or a bad night?” Tony asked.

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. “Why do you care?”

 

“I find that spending a couple hours in close proximity to someone can be infinitely less uncomfortable if there’s amiable conversation,” Tony said flatly. Bucky snorted a little and slurped again from the take-out cup. Tony resisted the urge to snatch it out of his grip and throw it away. Instead, he flattened his lips into a fine line and added, “even if the company is, well. Lacking.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “This was your idea, Stark.”

 

“And I stand by it,” Tony defended, gesturing to the arm currently attached to Bucky’s left shoulder. He ignored the way the use of his last name still stung. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be. “You’re the perfect test subject for neural-responsive prosthetics.”

 

“That so?” Bucky slurped again and this time Tony did snatch the cup away. He dropped it in the garbage can with an appeased huff, ignoring the irritated look that crossed Bucky’s face.

 

“Mmhm,” Tony affirmed. “You’re missing an arm, you live across the hall from me, and I won’t feel an ounce of guilt if you get hurt in the process.”

 

He whacked a hand against Bucky’s legs, signalling for him to move them so that Tony could be within the inner ring of his U shaped desk, but Bucky stayed resolutely still. The only indication that he’d noticed the gesture at all was the close-lipped smirk that spread across his face like a knife cut when Tony let out an exasperated sigh. He didn’t have time for this.

 

Well, he did. But not time he wanted to waste on Bucky.

 

So instead of starting up a game of strength he was sure to lose, Tony just swung his right leg over Bucky’s lap and straddled him for a moment. He balanced his weight with a firm hand against Bucky’s chest before swinging his left leg over to the other side. Pale blue eyes went wide in shock and Tony took the opportunity to mimic the man’s now missing smirk. He let his left heel drop onto Bucky’s stomach lightly, savoring the wheeze of breath it caused.

 

“Whoops,” Tony deadpanned, unrepentant. “Wish there’d been another way.”

 

Bucky scowled at him, his right arm covering his abdomen like he expected another attack. “Fuck you, Stark.”

 

“Been there, done that,” Tony said airily. If Bucky was at all taken aback by the first mention of their weird friends-with-benefits (minus the ‘friends’ part) thing they’d had going before the accident, it didn’t show. “You’ve read up on the new schematics?”

 

Bucky nodded, looking down at his metal arm. He wiggled his fingers impatiently, and squeezed his hand together in a fist. The distressed tone of the gears whirring told Tony that Bucky had been flat out ignoring his instructions to not use the arm to support any significant weight while he was working. Tony bit back a scathing remark about the irony of Bucky’s stage persona, The Winter Soldier, being unable to follow basic orders.

 

“Aside from the material, what exactly is changing?” Bucky didn’t look up at Tony, still watching his arm move. “This one works fine. Don’t think a heavier arm will make moving easier.”

 

“It’s not about heavy,” Tony explained. “It’s about durability.”

 

He picked up a piece of jewelry wiring he’d been using to prod at DUM-E’s innards earlier and waved it in front of the other man’s face to get his attention.

 

“See this?” Tony said, pointedly bending and curving the wire, letting it retain the shapes he pushed it into. “Easy to break in. That’s sort of like your arm right now. Makes it feel more yours. Like old leather boots.”

 

Bucky’s eyes flicked from the piece of wire, up to Tony’s face, waiting for him to continue.

 

“It’s all well and good for temporary use,” Tony bent the wire in half sharply, using a fingernail to make sure it bent at a point. “It’s cheaper material and it means I can change out smaller parts easier without compromising the integrity of the rest of the arm. But it also means that it has a limited number of uses before it’s as good as the unresponsive plastic ones you’ll get from a doctor.”

 

He bent the wire the opposite direction, again making sure it folded neatly along the same point. The bent it back the other way, and then repeated the process until the metal didn’t need to be guided to bend at the exact same spot every time. The wire folded easier and easier until finally it snapped apart.

 

“And if this were to happen while it was attached to the neural response system I’ve set up inside your arm?” Tony gave Bucky a flat look. “Well. You’d be the first person ever to experience losing the same arm twice.”

 

“Sounds painful,” Bucky said blandly.

 

“Wouldn’t know,” Tony smiled back without humour. “If you want to keep putting more weight on it than you’re supposed to, we can make an experiment out of it. See how many singles you dig out of your crotch before it collapses on you.”

 

“My crotch only takes twenties,” Bucky retorted, not missing a beat. “Besides, ain’t that why I’m the perfect test subject? You don’t care if I get hurt in the process.”

 

Tony frowned. “Care about you getting hurt? No. But I’m not going to let you walk around with my unfinished tech attached to you. It’s bad advertising.”

 

He pulled the folding chair closer to the corner where Bucky was, and angled himself to avoid ramming his knees against the end legs of the table. He bracketed the arm with both of his and consciously tried to correct his posture before checking to make sure all his tools were within reach.

 

“Don’t get nervous on me now,” Bucky’s voice was low, and surprised Tony by how much louder it was up close. He blinked at the other man, who stared back unabashed as if he didn’t have red glitter bits still peeking out from under his hair. “Can’t afford another totalled car.”

 

“You don’t _have_ a car,” Tony huffed. “Alright, shutting down the neural link now. Brace yourself. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

 

He twirled the metal pick in his hand, and pried the sharp tip of it down the seam separating the joining plating to the first large plate of the arm. Bucky sucked in a sharp breath. Tony wrenched the pick to the side and the plate popped off with a sharp click. The metal fingers dug into the end of the table they rested on, whirrs and whines of gears louder without complete plating to muffle them. Tony found the switch quickly and flicked it into the off position.

 

Bucky’s eyes were screwed shut, and his nose was crinkled over a harsh grimace. It took a few minutes for the neural network to really shut off, Tony knew. It was a blessing when installing a new arm--meant feeling was slowly introduced instead of all at once, but a curse when taking off an old one. The sensors that told Bucky he should be in pain were probably blaring in his head.

 

“You still in law school? What has it been, five years now? Aren’t you supposed to graduate in three?” Tony tried to distract him. He may not like the guy, but he wasn’t completely devoid of bedside manner. “Have you tried bringing the pole into the courtroom? I’m sure it’d make for a real unique closing statement.”

 

“Four and a half, part-time. Next semester is my last,” Bucky corrected, teeth still clenched. “And it’s a closing _argument_ , and _opening_ statement.”

 

“What’s the difference?”

 

“You’re allowed to be openly argumentative in one. The other is supposed to be objective,” Bucky’s eyes opened just a bit, and he risked a glance at the arm. The tiny LED’s Tony had built into the circuitry to monitor the flow of electricity were only about halfway dimmer.

 

“Isn’t the whole point to be persuasive all the time?” Tony pressed. “You get paid an absurd amount of money to trick people into believing you anyway. What’s so sacred about the opener?”

 

Bucky’s eyes flickered up from the arm to Tony. The nearly permanent scowl had deepened and he looked like he was well aware that Tony was trying to distract him. Not that that had ever stopped Tony before.

 

“I mean, it’s your job, right?” Tony added on, ignoring the flash of anger he saw. Good. Anger was distracting. “Just trick people into thinking the opening is neutral or whatever.”

 

“I don’t get paid to trick people. And lawyers don’t lie.” Bucky’s voice didn’t warble with pain, so that was probably good. The lights in his arm were only a little past halfway dim, though, so Tony let himself be lectured. “It’s my job to execute the best possible argument for my client based on the facts. If the facts are against us--”

 

“ _Then_ you lie. Got it.”

 

“No,” Bucky snapped. “Then I argue to lessen the sentencing. Or the owed damages. Whatever. No lying.”

 

“Ok, but aren’t you supposed to keep everything your client tells you confidential?” Tony leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowed. “So if I said, ‘Hey Bucky I’m hiring you to defend me. I totally killed that guy but I wanna plead innocent.’ Then I went up on the stand and declared my obvious innocence--”

 

“S’malpractice if I let you,” Bucky interrupted. He looked a little bit more animated. “S’your choice whether or not you wanna testify, but I would be obligated to tell the judge if I knew you were lying.”

 

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t ask all those tricky implication questions that just _hint strongly_ at someone’s innocence? Like those ones where the answer is rigged anyway. ‘Mr. Stark, is it true that you stopped eating raw goldfish?’ If I say yes, it implies I was indeed the menace PetsMart never knew they should fear, and if I say no it implies I still am. But it’s a yes or no question so I’m trapped.” Tony raised an eyebrow. “Besides, it’s not you that’s lying.”

 

Bucky squinted at him. “Why would you ever…?

 

“What?”

 

“Never mind. If I ask you something that I could be reasonably sure would cause you to lie on the stand, then I’m as guilty of perjury as you are,” Bucky said, doing that thing where his jaw set stubbornly. The lights in the arm had almost died down. “Doesn’t matter who actually says it.”

 

“That’s kind of bogus,” Tony scoffed. “You can’t control when a client lies.”

 

Bucky snorted. “Maybe if you’re shit at your job.”

 

“Hah!” Tony cried out, pointing the pick at Bucky’s face triumphantly. “So you _do_ manipulate people!”

 

“Of course,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Just because I’m trying to persuade the court to give me what I want doesn’t mean I’m allowed to lie and cheat, though.”

 

“But lawyers do that shit anyway, right? There’s a whole reputation to uphold.”

 

Tony was admittedly surprised at the amount of ice that frosted over Bucky’s already irritable expression, turning it into something downright hostile.

 

“None that are worth hiring.”

 

Tony whistled low. “Bold words from the young stripper-turned-lawyer who’ll be showing up to opening _statements_ covered in glitter.”

 

Bucky didn’t respond, just looked down at his arm. The lights had gone out completely and a shuddery sigh followed from Bucky’s lungs. Tony prodded gently at the exposed seam where the panel had rested and glanced up at the other man to gauge a reaction. Bucky shook his head.

 

“S’fine. Can’t feel shit,” Bucky said and the ice left his features just as fast as it had come, replaced with the normal unreadable apathy.

 

“Good,” Tony said, getting to work prying off the rest of the covering panels and placing them in an empty box on the floor. Y’know. Just in case he happened across any other amputees that were exactly Bucky’s size that happened to need a left arm prosthetic. “Makes my job much harder to do if you’re screaming in agony. What with all the writhing. The non-sexy variety, to clarify.”

 

“Gee, I never would’ve picked up on that,” Bucky said dryly, the corners of his lips curling up just so slightly. “Golly, thanks for telling me. I might’ve just started gyrating on instinct alone.”

 

“Y’know, with anyone else I would’ve assumed that was an empty threat,” Tony muttered, slowly unscrewing and removing gears and pistons from the arm.

 

He detached the hand completely first, then dismantled the forearm just as methodically. By the time he was through, Bucky just had a mess of wires and circuits hanging from his shoulder socket. He carefully packed up the guts of the old arm, keeping the parts neatly organized in labelled ziplock baggies before dumping them unceremoniously on top of the plating in the box on the floor. He shoved it aside with the tip of his toe, and tugged the towel with the fresh new parts laid out closer to where he worked.

 

As with anything, destruction was always easier than construction. Anyone with a screw driver could’ve dismantled the arm. Maybe not as elegantly, but still. Didn’t matter if the screws got stripped to bits, or if any of the joints were compromised in the process. Brute forcing some of the more stubborn pieces lacked the finesse constructing the arm required. The angle of the artificial bone structure had to be exactly right or the whole thing would be off. And if he accidentally bent anything out of shape? Then the rest of the arm was more or less useless until he could reconstruct the broken piece.

 

He tried a couple times to press the circular joint into the socket of Bucky’s shoulder from where he leaned across the table. The edge of it dug sharply into his hip and the angle he had to lean at in order to see what he was doing was giving him warning cramps up and down his spine. So he did what Tony always did, and improvised.

 

He curled his hand up under the seat of the rolling chair Bucky had stolen and tugged him away from the edge of the table, where Tony could access the shoulder without anything sitting in between them. He tried to press the piece in again, but without the table to steady him, Bucky’s attempts to keep the chair from spinning away from the pressure were optimistic at best. Tony frowned, backing away a little to assess the situation.

 

Ah. That would work.

 

He scooted up close again and threw his left leg across Bucky’s lap again, ignoring the surprised squawk. Before Bucky could jerk away completely, Tony wrapped his free hand around the far-side crook in Bucky’s neck, pressing them together and locking the other man into place. He pressed down a little to guide Bucky into tilting away from Tony and… Yep. Much better. He screwed the circular joint in without further issues.

 

“Can’t say I would’a expected couples yoga to be part of the installation,” Bucky said, looking unimpressed. “Ain’t you a bit clingy for a mechanic?”

 

Tony puffed, putting the correct screwdriver in his mouth so that he could reach for the next part of the arm without letting go of the lock he had on the other man. When he had it in place and was able to take the screwdriver back out from between his teeth, he responded, “Never seemed to bother you before. If you prefer I can just rig up a bunch of vices instead. Or maybe you could _not steal my chair--_ ”

 

“S’fine, Stark,” Bucky said, caught somewhere between exasperated and soothing.

 

“No, really,” Tony added, reaching for the next piece. “I can go all out and get one of those BDSM contraptions. I’m sure you’re familiar, what with the line of work and all. Should keep your arm suspended properly. I assumed that would be a little more awkward, but hey, I won’t judge your journey.”

 

Tony felt a small chuckle rumble through Bucky’s chest.

 

The first circuit board hooked up smoothly, and Bucky didn’t voice any more complaints. Curiously, he did bring his feet down from where they rested on the opposing desk and draped his good arm across Tony’s leg. But neither of them saw fit to comment on it, so they didn’t. It was probably just to keep himself stable as Tony tugged and pulled at the arm in all sorts of directions.

 

“Make anything explode lately?” Bucky asked finally, when Tony had let go of him to fetch the new plating. “Didn’t see anything on the news, but I can never be sure.”

 

“If I have, I haven’t been made aware of it,” Tony said, hearing the cold in his own voice more than he felt it. “Not much in my line of work that calls for it.”

 

“Mechanics…?”

 

“Dealing,” Tony said, maybe a little more harshly than necessary. He didn’t look up to see Bucky’s face. Didn’t care to know what he thought of Tony’s still lamentable career path.

 

“Hm.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” Bucky shrugged and Tony flicked his side irritably with a hissed ‘stay still.’ “Just figured with stuff like this, you could probably make a killing.”

 

Tony snorted. “Doubt it. This is just a hobby.”

 

“Yeah, and your current career requires so much more skill and professionalism,” Bucky drawled.

 

“Are you offering me career advice?” Tony laughed. “Sorry, thongs just don’t work with my physique. I’ll consider the glitter, though.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and they stayed silent while the rest of the plating was carefully attached. Tony flipped the switch last, quickly attaching the last panel so that the first sensations in the arm wouldn’t be painful ones. He pushed his chair back and admired his handiwork.

 

Really was a damn shame that it was connected to Bucky Barnes.

 

“Test it out,” Tony said, after a couple minutes. “Just general diagnostics for now. You know the drill.”

 

Bucky looked up from where Tony had been working to briefly make eye-contact and nod. The whirring was louder when Bucky picked up his arm. He could hear artificial joints in the shoulder grind against each other and winced. He motioned for Bucky to set the arm back down. Tony scooted the rolling chair across the floor, digging through one of the draws he’d ripped out of his desk ages ago until his hand found the tin of oil.

 

His fingers pinched around the small cap around the thin tip and twisted. It came away with a satisfying pop, and he set the cap on the table where he would remember it, tapping the wood once as if pressing save on the memory. Bucky was still watching him, arm rested on the towel he’d laid out.

 

Tony braced his hand gently on Bucky’s forearm, careful not to press too hard, but firm enough to keep him locked in place. It was strange to think that with the plating replaced, Bucky could probably easily throw him off now. He’d have to adjust to the slightly heavier weight of it, sure, but Tony was more concerned about a Hercules situation where Bucky accidentally (or intentionally--Tony was well aware of the effect he had) throwing him through the drywall. But the metal arm stayed still, humming quietly with potential energy.

 

He swiped a thumb along the top ridge of Bucky’s shoulder plate, tapping gently to see where the hollow spot was before dancing around it, squirting little bits of oil where the gears were densest. The needle tip thin point of the bottle was able to breach the outermost layer of plating and Bucky grimaced the first time it happened.

 

“I know. Sorry,” Tony said, before Bucky could voice his concerns. “Try it now.”

 

Bucky rolled his shoulder slowly and the whirr was soft; like a handheld fan made of feathers. Tony beamed.

 

“Good. You may have to oil it up more frequently since the parts rest more heavily on each other,” Tony advised as Bucky continued the diagnostics. He wiggled each finger methodically, watching his own reaction time and testing squeezing his fist together. He even flicked along the surface of his bicep to make sure the pressure responders were active. Tony had only ever asked him to test that once, but Bucky had remembered and done it each time after. “The good news is that that means it should hold up to twice your weight. So you can do all those backhand flips you’ve been missing so much. The shocks will absorb it just fine.”

 

Bucky looked dubious. “Are you sure?”

 

“No, I gave it to you on a _whim_ ,” Tony said dryly. “Of course I’m sure.

 

Bucky raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him, looking all the more tired for the long strands of brown hair that fell across his face. “Yeah, last time you wanted someone to take your word on something just working, you totalled my car.”

 

Tony winced. He stumbled over words that could pull him out of the ditch Bucky’d just shoved him into, but the other man seemed to have no interest in offering him a helping hand. He stood up and continued to move his arm, raised it up above his head and pulled it across his chest. Tony watched how it tugged at this skin with a small frown. Even with all the adjustments Tony tried, it still couldn’t be comfortable.

 

“I’m going to test it,” Bucky announced suddenly.

 

“You have been,” Tony pointed out, but Bucky’s back was already turned and he already had the front door of Tony’s apartment open.

 

Tony watched, warily, as he used his metal hand to open it. Nothing broke off so that was something. But he released the handle early, letting the door stay widely ajar. Tony protested, but the dark messy bun and the broad shoulders beneath it slipped out of sight without remorse, forcing him out of his chair and away from his work bench. Tony groaned, bare feet padding softly across the cold hardwood floor.

 

“Least you could do is shut the door behind you--” Tony cut his grumbling short, realizing that Bucky had paused in the doorway of his own apartment, looking for all the world like he was waiting for something.

 

The other man stared him down thoughtfully, then looked down at the metal hand he had over his own door. Then he did the most confusing thing. He walked into his living room. Didn’t shut the door behind him, didn’t even try to kick it closed. And Tony knew from experience that there were at least four deadbolts on that door. Bucky hadn’t been a very welcoming or friendly resident after he’d started his new career path. Even less so after the accident.

 

Tony tilted his head to the side, but Bucky gave him no further clues. Just disappeared around the corner where the short hallway ended and Tony lost sight of him.

 

Well, shit.

 

Tony rocked on his heels, shifting his weight back and forth, and suddenly wishing he was in anything but PJs. Even though their doors were maybe fifteen feet away, there was still a chance that someone could catch him in his magic school bus sweats. Some new youth that wanted to capitalize on the living relic of a meme that happened to reside in the apartments so close to campus.

 

He grit his teeth and shut his own door behind him, swiftly crossing the hall to follow Bucky into his apartment.

 

It was strange. He hadn’t actually been over since the accident. Nothing appeared to have changed. Bucky’s bare mattress was still where it always had been, crooked in the middle of the bedroom that was just a couple steps forward and to the right of the front door. It was covered in the same red quilts even, and Tony could remember running his fingertips over the harshly done stitching in places where Bucky had patched it himself. The window blinds were still just as broken.

 

The familiarity seemed strained though, as if the three-something years that had passed covered everything in an invisible film that Tony wasn’t supposed to touch. He hadn’t been meant to touch anything in the first place--it had been a fluke. But now? Now Bucky’s apartment had covered itself like a plastic couch; hostile and creaking in protest of Tony’s presence. Like he’d waited too long. Missed his window to reignite that whole… Whatever it was they had been doing. If he’d ever had a second window at all.

 

Unlike _some_ people he knew, Tony was at least polite enough to close Bucky’s door behind him.

 

“Remember the latches,” Bucky called and Tony nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

So following him was the correct choice then. Well.

 

As he pushed in the chains and tugged the locks to make sure they were secure, he thought about the joints in Bucky’s fingers, and whether or not they were dextrous enough to make up for the unforgiving hard metal surface. Maybe coating the tips of the fingers in rubber would help him grip things better. But then he wouldn’t be able to use the unique energy signature Tony’d created to mimic a fingerprint. Tony frowned.

 

“Are you coming in or not?” Bucky sounded impatient.

 

“Actually, I was thinking of staying right here,” Tony replied. “Love what you’ve done with the place. Well. What you haven’t done to the place. You must be a big fan of minimalism.”

 

He heard Bucky’s disbelieving chuff and (very responsibly) decided not to take the bait (further). When he rounded the corner he stopped dead in his tracks.

 

The living room was still bare, save for the industrial dancer’s pole Bucky had bought god knows how many years ago and the same little wooden table Tony was about 83% sure he’d found on the curb. It held Bucky’s phone and tiny little speaker set just like it always had. But there was Bucky with his back to Tony, head ducked down presumably to read the words on the screen of his phone. And shirtless.

 

Tony’s eyes immediately went to the seam of the arm, checking his own handiwork, but strayed soon after. The broad tanned shoulders he’d known so well were pale now, and covered in crisscrossing scars. They wrapped around him all jagged, like the inverse of a screw stripped of it’s edges. Still, Bucky was beautiful and leaned from one leg to the other with the slow grace of a panther that had found its hunt.

 

[A chorus of voices and a simple beat tapped out of the speakers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gOuexHklkTo), the gritty guitar line running sleazy across the whole room like molasses. The lead singer’s voice croaked the lyrics in that way Tony had always suspected caused permanent vocal damage. Smooth as gargling gravel. Tony swallowed thickly as the cold blue eyes that haunted his nightmares and fantasies alike found his with one eyebrow raised.

 

“What?”

 

“Do I have to pay for the show?” Tony felt the words leave his mouth before he could fathom why he was speaking them. “I would, but I’m all out of ones and also I hate you.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and sauntered over to the pole as casual as anything. “Dancing without music is stupid. I’m testing the arm, not going for a world record in discomfort.”

 

“I think you could win it,” Tony replied easily. “You have this real lack of charm about you. Knocks you right in the face.”

 

“Only when you deserve it,” Bucky’s voice hitched a little as he gripped the pole with his right hand, hoisting himself up a foot or so before tentatively adding his left. He wrapped his legs around the metal bar, pinching his knees together where he could grip it and Tony watched the muscles along his torso adjust. His mouth felt dry and he suddenly felt very much like prey.

 

“See? Works.” Tony gestured lamely at the arm as Bucky let himself spin oh-so-slowly. The loose strands of hair trailed out behind him like wisps of smoke. “Told you so.’

 

Bucky scoffed. “That’s not all my weight.”

 

Tony had a joke about Bucky gaining weight since the accident sitting at the tip of his tongue but swallowed it when the man let his right arm drop, holding himself up by his knees and the left arm below. The shift had him spinning a bit faster now and Bucky let his head drop back, back curving until he was stretched out almost perpendicular to the pole. His eyes had closed at some point and the irritation had left his features.

 

He looked… peaceful.

 

Bucky curled back upwards, focused etched across his face as he dropped one leg, keeping the hollow of his left knee on the metal. He had his right arm curled up protectively, like he was braced for a fall and Tony couldn’t stop the scowl he felt coming on. His former reservations abandoned, Tony stepped forward getting into Bucky’s space. The cold blue eyes were narrowed on him again.

 

Tony pointedly kept his gaze on Bucky’s face or arm. He would not intrude where he wasn’t wanted.

 

“You don’t have to play gentle with it,” Tony reached out and rapped a knuckle on the side of the metal. It clanked dully, with no twang of torque or material distress. “That’s kind of the whole point, actually.”

 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed further and before Tony could blink, Bucky had hoisted himself another couple feet higher in the air, curling around the bar and locking his left knee around it tightly before letting go completely. By the time he’d spun back around to where Tony stood with his arms crossed, the metal arm had gripped the pole from the base and the smug look on his face was undeniable. Their noses almost brushed as he passed and Tony was pretty sure there was a height joke in there somewhere.

 

Tony raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

 

“That it? Three years without a working arm and you lost all your tricks?” Tony’s voice was bland on the side of challenging and there was something safe in the familiar flash of anger in Bucky’s eyes.

 

The knee holding his weight let go as he stretched the leg out straight, curving his ankle around the bar so lightly it looked like it did nothing at all. The lines across his abdomen were still as defined as ever, covered in the same silver lines that spiraled around his back. Wreckage from a broken windshield, Tony thought, remembering the newspaper report.

 

When Bucky’s foot whacked into the side of his head Tony yelped in surprise, jumping backwards.

 

Bucky laughed at him, a wicked sound. Tony scowled back.

 

“Like I said,’ Bucky hummed, altering the speed of his spins to the slow dragging rhythm where he whipped around when the trumpets blared and slowed when they fell away. “I’m testing it. Don’t want to be attached to your next accidental car bomb while I’m at work.”

 

“Yeah, it’s usually polite to keep the explosions at home,” Tony said dryly.

 

Bucky’s eyes were shut again and he curled back upwards, righting himself with the metal hand gripping the pole, the clash letting out a sharp ring that fell right on beat. Tony’s heart leapt into his throat. The gleam of sweat on the other man’s back was unfair.

 

Tony focused on the arm. The plates lifted and adjusted accordingly and Tony barely noticed when Bucky locked the arm straight out and let his legs dangle beneath him, the right bent at the knee to keep the momentum of his spin. He ignored the way Bucky’s sweats had fallen lower in the process, and the sharp jut of hip bone that was left exposed.

 

Bucky looked a little breathless, his cheeks flushed red from having been upside-down for so long and his hair was a mess. Tony wanted to run his hands through it, to bite at those parted lips and add his own scratch marks to the silver on Bucky’s skin.

 

Instead, his stupid traitorous mouth said, “Contrary to popular belief, I do actually know what I’m doing.”

 

“Mm,” was all the agreement he was allowed.

 

The grin that spread slowly across Bucky’s lips reminded Tony again of the deadbolts as he suddenly wanted to simultaneously run for it and test if the arm could support the weight of him and Bucky both. He bit the inside of his cheek. Bucky moved freely now, apparently done with his testing, twisting and sliding down the pole like he never meant to set foot on the ground again. His hips moved maddeningly with the rhythm of the music. Tony tried to focus on breathing when he dragged a hand up over his own chest before pushing his hair out of his face.

 

“Those joints should be able to stand all that and more,” Tony tried to fill the silence, cover the music like it was personally offending him. “The shocks in there aren’t coiled, but are a foam I designed similar to memory foam but shredded metal wire. There’s nothing in there that isn’t waterproof either, so don’t hold back on oiling it. I don’t want to see it rusting.”

 

Bucky ignored him, rolling his hips out away from the pole and letting his arms slide down until he had bent himself practically into a right angle before he reached down and wrapped his right hand around his right ankle, pulling it up and straightening it so that it rested near his ear and Tony’s pants were suddenly uncomfortably tight.

 

“Means your strength is adjusted too,” he babbled. “So don’t go picking up anything delicate with that hand until you’re used to it. And don’t say I didn’t warn you if you shatter all your glassware. So. You believe me now? It works.”

 

The tempo of the song raised, shifting keys, guitar taking over the main line unrepentantly and Bucky danced like he’d forgotten Tony was there at all. The look of peace on his face came back, devious grin softening into a genuine smile. He shook out his hair, letting the band drop somewhere on the floor and seemed to take great pleasure in whipping the thick locks back behind him while his thighs squeezed around the pole. His eyes found Tony again and Tony swore he could hear the static threatening to take over his mind.

 

“It’s a modern miracle. I’m a genius, remember?” Tony tapped his head meaningfully, trying desperately now to restart the familiar hostility. He didn’t know what to do with this. Whatever this was. “Didn’t just get lucky.”

 

The corners of Bucky’s lips curled up, and Tony felt weak at the knees when Bucky landed on the floor with a solid thump. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

 

“Still time to change that,” Bucky’s voice was a low purr that went straight to his dick and the man was close enough to see the little droplets of sweat the lingered still on the line of his top lip.

 

“Yeah?” Tony said dumbly, even as Bucky’s looming figure pressed him firmly against the wall.

 

“Mmhm,” Bucky hummed, using metal fingers to hook into Tony’s waistband, tugging him closer abruptly. He pressed firmly against that bare chest and Bucky’s hands, one warm, one cold, snake down the his back to grab handfuls of his ass. Tony’s hips rolled of their own accord and he was viciously gratified to see the flash of desperation on Bucky’s face. The other man’s voice was hoarse. “Same rules as before. We’re not exclusive. No sleeping over. No cuddling.”

 

Tony nodded, leaning in to nose at the line of Bucky’s throat. He nipped at the crook of his neck hard enough to draw a hiss from Bucky’s lips. He murmured the old agreement that had been burned into his memory permanently. “No feelings. No holding hands. It doesn’t change anything. We’re not together. Not friends. It’s just--”

 

Bucky’s hands pushed up into his hair and tugged his head back so that Bucky could run the flat of his tongue over the line of tendon and nipping gently under Tony’s ear.

 

“S’just sex,” Bucky finished for him, drawing away and pausing to stare down the shorter man like he expected a challenge.

 

Tony nodded as best he could with Bucky’s fingers still fisted in his hair, gasping a little and pressing himself shamelessly against Bucky’s thigh for some friction; some relief. He repeated, “It’s just sex.”

 

The words were barely out of his mouth before Bucky’s lips were on his, kissing like he meant to consume and Tony just held on for dear life. Unbidden, from the back corners of his mind that he didn’t venture near, he felt himself sighing in relief. He’d missed this. And he didn’t know what to do with that information.

 

 

* * *

 

It probably didn’t count as a proper walk-of-shame, given that his apartment was maybe less than five steps away, but the mussed hair and hickeys lining his throat probably made up the difference. Bucky had always been a surprisingly possessive bastard for someone that wanted nothing to do with him afterwards. Not that Tony minded. He even took the excuse to go check his mail while he was out and about.

 

“Mr. Stark?” a timid voice called from the hallway that ran underneath the stairwell and Tony contemplated sprinting back up to his apartment.

 

“Peter Parker,” he said instead, not taking his eyes off the dial-lock of his mailbox. “What do you want? Did you run out of blog posts to comment on?”

 

Peter halted where he stood and blanched. “Well. Yes. But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. See, the latest design you posted for the prosthetic? I think there’s a part in there that--”

 

Tony tilted his head back and groaned. He’d lost track of his progress on the lock and had to start over. He scowled at the little numbers, twisting the whole thing a few rounds to the left to wipe the slate clean. Honestly, he should just install his own DNA lock on the thing. It would be safer anyway.

 

“--where you originally had the coils, but the way you re-routed the wiring was reminiscent of a technique that was really popular about fifteen years ago--”

 

“Are you trying to remind me how old I am?” Tony grumbled. “It’s not polite to remind people of their unavoidable mortality, Peter. And I’m just 32. The way you kids go on about it you’d think I had a foot in the grave.”

 

“No! No, sir. _Mr. Stark_ , I mean.”

 

“Nailed it,” Tony said as dryly as he could. “Now I know for _sure_ that this is just a casual chat.”

 

“Mr. Stark, what I’m trying to say is that I think you might have fixed the arc reactor!” Peter’s words came out in this horrible jumble of stuttering and nerves, barely leaving his mouth so much as falling to the floor with a splat. He looked like he expected to be shot down at any moment; which was fair, since Tony was going to shoot him down at any moment.

 

“Where’s your aunt, kid?” He asked. “Don’t you have a herd of baby deer you need to sing at?”

 

“I live by myself,” Peter said defiantly, chin jutting out. It just didn’t have the same effect coming from the scrawniest freshman he’d ever seen. And he was including himself in that line-up.

 

“Yeah? Well look at you in your big boy pants,” Tony put on the fakest, cheeriest smile he could and mussed up Peter’s hair. “You do your own laundry and everything? Did you remember to brush your teeth?”

 

“Mr. Stark, please, I’m serious--”

 

“Hi serious, I’m Tony.”

 

Peter actually made a noise akin to a growl that reminded Tony of baby Simba trying to roar at the wildebeest that killed Mufasa. It was adorable.

 

“Look,” Tony said with a sigh. He was such a sucker for those big doe eyes. “I’m not someone you should be looking up to--never mind reading my blog posts. The arc reactor failed, alright? Engineering is just a hobby now, kid. Why not try looking up to Steve Jobs? I mean, sure, he’s dead, and I have quite a few bones to pick with his tech, but hey. You have to admit he was stylish.”

 

“I’m not a kid,” Peter snapped.

 

Tony reached out to ruffle his hair again, unspeakably proud when Peter ducked away this time. He was learning. Just like Simba. “Sure thing, kid.”

 

He could hear the tell-tale stomping of combat boots and didn’t have to look up to know that Bucky was descending down the stairwell. But he did anyway because wow, those leather pants had to have been painted on. The kid was still saying something. Tony snapped his attention back to Peter and held up a hand to hush him.

 

“Listen. I’m not going to tell you this again,” Tony said slowly. “I. Am. Not. A. Good. Influence. Model your career off someone else unless you want to pay for your 30th birthday party with drug money. Alright? Oh, how about Mark Zuckerberg? You kids are all about the Facepages and the Snaptweets now, right? Forgive me, I’m a little out of date due to how _old_ I am.”

 

“But--”

 

“Hm,” Tony cut him off again. “Maybe I’m not being convincing enough. You should find someone wholesome to look up to. Like Bucky.”

 

Bucky flinched next to him and shot him a cold look that was equal parts suspicious and malicious.

 

“Sure he may be a stripper now, but someday our fine young Buck’s going to be a lawyer,” Tony opened his eyes wide with faked awe and reverence. Peter squirmed in his spot. “Y’know if he ever gets off the pole long enough to pass the bar.”

 

Tony paused, snickering. “Get it? Poles and bars?”

 

“Your arm is right there, Mr. Stark!” Peter blurted, pointing to the glinting new metal beast attached to Bucky’s side. “It’s clearly not just hypothetical, so why--”

 

“Kid,” Bucky snarls, catching both Tony and Peter off guard. “Let it go. He’s not your hero. He’s a fucking drug dealer.”

 

And okay, ow, that smarts. It was true, but still. He didn’t have to be so…

 

Then Tony’s big dumb mouth was running again before he realized. “Yeah, cuz I’m clearly the worse of the two of us. No, no, Peter, go ahead. Why don’t you call Bucky here ‘Mr. Barnes’? Am I just that old or is it just that improbable that Buckaroo here ever comes home from a job that doesn’t coat him in glitter?”

 

Bucky’s eyes went wide for a moment and Tony braced himself for the unavoidable. But the lecture didn’t come. There was no shout-down, no swearing, no rebuttal. Just one icy response that cut to the core and somehow hurt infinitely worse.

 

“I think I’ll take my chances stripping rather than wasting away, _Mr. Stark._ ”

 

The way he said it could not have been an accident. The cadence in his voice brought the memories of the arc reactor front and center. He could feel the cuts across his cheek that would take weeks to heal. He could feel the heat that had seeped into the walls of his apartment and still woke him up in a panic. He could hear Peter defending his honour meekly, but Tony didn’t need the kid’s pity. He whirled on Bucky, jabbing at his chest with his handful of mail.

 

“How’s that been working out for you? Is the “soldier” part of Winter Soldier cuz of the arm? Like some kind of sexy amputee? That certainly seems like one hell of a chance to take. I’ve heard about niche fetishes, but hey, whatever pays your bills,” Tony hands him the eviction notice letter from the top of his handful of mail. He was going to give it to him in private, but nah. Fuck it. He wanted to air out dirty laundry? Tony was game. “Or not. Maybe if you take the arm off and toss it into the audience you’d get more tips”

 

Bucky’s face did that thing again where every single feature frosted over and the chill resonated up and down Tony’s spine. He adjusted his posture like he meant to take a swing and Tony wondered idly how it was possible for one stupid neighbor to get under his skin in so many ways. He had hickeys, and fingertip shaped bruises all over him and was about to get a shiner from the same guy. The corresponding events barely a half hour apart.

 

Tony flinched back when Bucky stepped into his space to rip the letter from his grasp, which only seemed to upset Bucky further. But he didn’t swing. No, instead he took a slow careful breath.

 

“So I’m a stripper. At least I’m a damn good one. You’re a pot dealer; mediocre at best. And a failed engineer. Or did you forget that time you became an international joke, _Mr. Stark?_ You weren’t even good enough to get a job as an intern in your own dad’s company. But nah. You keep selling weed. You keep talking to DUM-E. And keep adjusting the arm of a guy who wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire. You’re doing _great_.”

 

Tony couldn’t breathe. He could barely see the man in front of him. Something made his vision blurry and he stumbled back.

 

Bucky left without another word.

 

“Tony,” Peter starts.

 

“Oh, now you call me Tony,” Tony choked out a laugh. He waved a hand at Peter, and shoved his mailbox closed again. He looked down at the ground for a moment to collect himself. He was still wearing his magic school bus sweats. Huh. He shook his head and moved around the dumbstruck teenager like water around a rock. “Like I said. You don’t want to be like me.”

 

“But--”

 

“Try Oprah. She’s a classic.”

 

Tony shut his apartment door behind him before Peter could vocalize the protest. His heart beat loud in his ears and the shouts of reporters asking him questions--so many questions--echoed through his mind replaying over a loop of the godawful explosion, over and over and over and…

 

Shit. _Shit._

 

It wasn’t like Bucky was wrong, either. Tony hadn’t touched anything that packed more punch than an AA battery since the incident. Even Bucky’s arm was built to steal kinetic energy from Bucky’s natural movements. No batteries. No power source. No potential for explosions. The cold in the metal plating was intentional. As many times as he told himself he was fine, that he wasn’t a danger to anyone anymore, that heat seared in the back of his mind where he could still hear Peter’s voice, yelling something Tony couldn’t make out.

 

The blackout curtains he’d put up over the windows muffled the sounds of the street below as much as they reduced the lights from the city to thin slivers. Shadows slid across the room in waves as cars passed and each time the light swept over him he felt like he was caught in the spotlight of a search helicopter. Tony’s knees bent beneath him and he fell to the floor with a dull thump. DUM-E was scuttling over to him in no time, extending out its long clawed apparatus and resting it on his shoulder.

 

Tony huffed.

 

“Where’d you go and learn that from, huh?” he asked the bot, knowing full well he’d written the lines of programming himself. Whatever triggered the proper algorithm seemed to vary from day to day and Tony watched warily, concerned that DUM-E’s sensed distress would end with another emptied fire extinguisher in the face. But the bot only beeped back quietly. It seemed content to remain motionless.

 

The heavy weight of the metal prongs was as comforting as it was a bit painful, the sharp edges digging into the meat of his muscle. The effect was grounding and Tony let his eyes fall closed, focusing on his breathing. Peter’s voice was still carrying through the window. He was yelling something, interspersed “hey!”’s with longer statements Tony couldn’t hear. There were other voices now too. Ones that Tony didn’t recognize, cutting into Peter’s words in a way that sounded distinctly threatening. Tony wracked his brain, trying to match the new voices to the faces of other building residents.

 

He grabbed at DUM-E, using the robot to push himself to his feet, grateful when it moved slowly beside him. He leaned on it until his footing was steady enough and he didn’t see spots whenever he moved a little too fast. By the time he’d reached the black out curtains, the voices outside had raised to a fever pitch again. One peek and he saw Peter, stupid brave Peter Parker, approaching a group of kids that had a girl cornered against the brick wall of an alley way. The tallest kid had something that looked suspiciously like a butterfly knife that he was twirling across his palm.

 

“C’mon, Peter,” Tony pleaded. “Get out of there. Just let it go.”

 

As if he heard, Peter shook his head stubbornly and took another step forward, fists raised. The tall kid flicked his wrist just so and yup. There was the knife.

 

“Shit,” Tony hissed.

 

He nearly hip-checked himself on DUM-E as he swerved hard around the clutter in his lab, leaping over piles of abandoned project towards the front door. He waited to hear the click of the door shutting behind him, but only barely. Tony took the stairs two at a time, nearly stumbling and hitting the ground level with air piercing his lungs sharp and cold. The kid with the knife had turned entirely towards Peter now, and even with Peter’s back to him, Tony could tell he had that stubborn look on his face that he got when he knew he was on to something.

 

“Leave her alone,” Peter said, sounding like some kind of comicbook cliche. Tony cringed. “She didn’t do anything to you.”

 

“Do I look like I give a shit?” the kid with the knife snickered. “I’m not here to make friends. Get the fuck outta here, kid.”

 

“I’m not a kid,” Peter snapped back.

 

“Whoa, whoa, yes you are,” Tony interjected, huffing a little to catch his breath and putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder, trying to steer him away from the scene. “Sorry fellas, didn’t mean to interrupt your mugging. Kid here’s gotta reach his weekly quota for stupid heroics.”

 

Peter shrugged off his hand and stepped again towards the trio of armed youths. “No, I’m not just gonna let them hurt someone. S’not right.”

 

Tony muttered an exasperated ‘come on,’ and begrudgingly moved so that he stood in front of Peter, arms outstretched to shield the kid. “Listen, surely this isn’t going as you planned, right?”

 

The kid with the knife gestured at Peter. “Would’ve if that punk hadn’t decided--”

 

“To be an idiot, _I know._ And believe me, I sympathize,” Tony tried to look as apologetic as he could and moved to block Peter’s attempt to duck around him with relative ease. He ignored the indignant huff. “But now you’ve got one potential victim plus two witnesses. And, let’s be honest--she’s not going to have much money on her anyway.”

 

The kid with the knife looked back at the near-mugging-victim with his eyes narrowed. The knife was still pointed at Tony, uncomfortably aligned with his throat level. When he whipped back around and fixed Tony with a stare, the genius might’ve found it intimidating if he hadn’t spent a great deal of time on the receiving end of Bucky Barnes’ wrath. This kid’s was like a grumpy care bear in comparison.

 

“So what’s your point old man?” the kid snarled at him, voice cracking. _Cute_.

 

Bucky would eat him alive.

 

He let his shoulders relax and crossed his arms over his chest and did his best impersonation of Bucky ‘ _I’m going to punch your teeth out_ ’ Barnes’ chilling stare the man had been known to level at stray bits of litter. Then, slowly, he curled the corners of his lips into his most charming smile--the one he’d always given the press, way back in the day. The kid looked mildly alarmed, so Tony rolled with it, smoothing a hand over his goatee and making a point to eye each and every one of the potential threats like he wouldn’t have cared even if they’d come armed to the teeth. His pulse was racing fast under his skin, but the worried looks the kids exchanged gave him that extra burst of confidence.

 

“My point is that when you made your debut in this here alley way, it was your little squad versus one,” Tony said, careful not to let the bluff show through his words. “Now it’s three of us. Is a wallet full of ones and fives really worth that much trouble to you?”

 

The kid with the knife faltered, staring down Tony like he hoped to find a crack in his armour, so Tony gave him none. Behind him, he heard Peter clearing his throat to speak up and prayed to every deity he could remember that the kid didn’t say anything stupid.

 

“Yeah! You don’t know who he is, do you?” Peter growled. “He’s Tony Stark. _The_ Tony Stark. And he could make your life a nightmare if he wanted to.”

 

That… wasn’t strictly true, but Tony couldn’t help the tug of pride in his chest. “Thank you, Peter.”

 

But Peter wasn’t done yet. “And even if he weren’t _the_ Tony Stark, he’s _badass_. He knows people. The kind of people that could really mess you up.”

 

“Peter,” Tony said low, warning.

 

“He’s probably the only drug dealer in the world that knows his way around every weapon that’s ever been made--”

 

The kid with the knife’s eyes lit up. “Wait, wait, wait. Hold on. _Tony Stark?_ The guy from the viral video? You’re a drug dealer now?”

 

“God _damnit_ , Peter,” Tony hissed.

 

“I remember watching you get clocked on loop,” the kid and his group laughed, and started moving towards them like hyenas. The girl they’d cornered saw her opening and bolted. That no one gave chase made Tony’s stomach drop unpleasantly. All eyes were locked on him and Peter. “Y’know, I think you’re right, old man. One little wallet isn’t worth the risk. But you know what is?”

 

“A college education?” Tony ventured. “A brand new Maserati? Armani suits?” He looked the kid up and down. “Though you strike me more as an Ed Hardy type.”

 

The kid took a step towards them, undeterred, and Tony kept his arms out to make sure Peter stayed behind him. He could feel the pent up energy that rippled across Peter’s movements, dying for the chance to prove himself. And that was the last thing Tony needed. Peter _dying_.

 

“How about you hand over everything you got, Tony?” The kid sneered, getting closer with that damn knife in a way that Tony did not like. “Bet a big shot like you is much more worth the risk, huh?”

 

“C’mon now,” Tony tried, “didn’t we already discuss the importance of witnesses? No? We could go over it again--”

 

“Nah, ‘cuz there’s not gunna be any witnesses,” the kid was moving closer with ease now that knife tip coming closer and closer. Between it and trying to herd Peter backwards towards their building Tony felt like he was stuck between a teenage shaped rock and a sharp pointy hard thing. Tony swallowed, chin raised. The kid had the kind of glint in his eyes that spoke to either desperation, crazy, drugs, or all three. Tacky long blond dreads (well, matting) said probably all three. “Cuz you’re gunna give us your stash, or I’m going to put this knife in your fucking neck. Got it?”

 

“Hah, wow,” Tony barked out a nervous laugh. “What a choice! Man. Can you give me a little bit to think it over? I want to make a list of pros and cons--”

 

“Empty your pockets now, _Mr. Stark_ ,” the kid jabbed the knife towards him.

 

Oh what Tony would’ve given for that exact statement to have been aimed at the other Mr. Stark. But of course it wasn’t. Of course it was Tony. So the engineer nodded and felt the curb with the back of his foot, bracing himself to step back over it. But the lackeys that were no longer concerned with their chosen victim were closing in on their sides. One moved to stand behind he and Peter, and he felt Peter press his back to Tony’s. The damn kid had probably never been punched in his goddamn life. And here he was, ready to fight back to back with--

 

“Now!” the kid demanded.

 

“Okay, okay!” Tony put his hands up in surrender. “I’m going to reach into my pockets real slow, alright?”

 

The kid nodded.

 

Tony’s hands edged towards the pockets he knew were empty. His brain was racing at the speed of light to think of something that wouldn’t get them fucking killed. Run, obviously, but he had no way to communicate to Peter where to--

 

Oh. _Ohhh_. Maybe it was a good thing Peter read his blog like a stalker aiming to win an award for it.

 

“Man, I sure was a _DUM-E_ to think I could fool _U_ guys,” Tony said, emphasizing the bots names and hoping Peter would pick up on the message. “Say Peter, I’m about to be broke, but I’ve got two king-sized _Butterfingers_ that I bet we could hide our woes behind. The usual place. My place.”

 

 _My lab,_ Tony thought as loud as he could. C _’mon kid, give me a sign. We’re gunna run for it. To my lab._

 

He felt Peter stiffen behind him, then nod.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, Mr. Stark, I think that sounds great,” Peter’s arms lowered to dig in his own pockets. “You can tell me that _one_ story about the arc reactor where you and Bucky, uh. When you _two_ \--”

 

“Three!” Tony shouted.

 

Peter hurled a bunch of wadded up papers at the lackey that stood between them and the stairs. It was just enough of a surprise for Tony to get the jump on the kid. He decked him, ignoring the back of his head that was painfully aware that he’d probably just punched a fifteen year old. But he didn’t stop to take in the sights. He scrambled up the steps as fast as he could manage. Peter was close behind him. At least he hoped. Someone was close behind him.

 

“C’mon, c’mon, _c’mon,_ ” Tony hissed under his breath, fiddling with his keys and cursing the auto-locking door he’d thought was such a smart fucking purchase.

 

He had the key in the lock and twisted it harshly. The door popped open and only then did Tony look behind him to see Peter, looking pale and frantic. He grabbed the kid by the arm and shoved him bodily into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind them and flipping the lock with shaking hands.

 

Fists beat on the wood seconds later and he could hear the enraged shouts. The door shook in its frame, jumping and pulsing under the blows.

 

“They’re gonna break down the door,” Peter said, voice small and terrified. “They’re gonna break down--”

 

“No time for panic,” Tony said, turning to grab Peter by the face and forcing the kid to look at him instead of the door. He waited until Peter focused a little before continuing. “Do you know any self defense? Any special skills you wanna share?”

 

Peter’s eyes went wide.

 

“That’s okay, that’s okay,” Tony reassured. “Just had to check. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

 

Tony looked around his lab, ignoring the thud thud thud in his chest threatening to break loose and make a run for it. No heavy equipment other than the bots themselves, and--

 

“DUM-E! U! C’mon! Follow us!” Tony shouted. The bots hummed to life, moving painfully slowly around all the obstacles littered in their way. Tony was begrudgingly starting to see why a disorganized lab might be a safety hazard. “C’mon, hurry, we don’t have all day!”

 

He herded Peter past the kitchen and towards the guest room, muttering expletives under his breath and waving the bots to follow faster. DUM-E hummed in distress, straight up trampling over one of the toys Tony’d been tinkering with but he didn’t have the brain capacity to concern himself with the loss at the moment. He shut the door behind them.

 

“Alright. Robo-squad,” Tony said, levelling his stare at the bots. They beeped in response. “You’re going to barricade the door. If anything penetrates it, DUM-E I want you to use that fire extinguisher you love so much. U, just reach out, grab and twist anything that looks like a knife, gun, arm, _whatever_. Make whatever it is regret being close enough to snatch.”

 

The two bots worked on getting into place as the banging coming from the front door got louder and louder. Tony heard the wood starting to splinter.

 

“That’s AI,” Peter was mumbling, eyes wide on the bots. “That’s actual, real, functional AI--”

 

“No time for that right now, kiddo,” Tony interrupted with a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

 

He steered him behind the guest bed and shoved harshly until Peter was hidden behind it. The kid tried to poke his head out once, but a quick swat discouraged that. Tony yanked open the nightstand drawer, fiddling with the false bottom until he could toss it out of the way. His hands wrapped around the handle of his pistol just as they heard the crash of the front door caving in.

 

Tony stood perfectly still, with the barrel of the gun pointed towards the barricaded guest door. DUM-E twisted to look at him, machinery whirring quietly under the sound of the teenagers raiding his home. Tony took his left hand away from where it stabilized the pistol to put a finger to his lips. DUM-E, either understanding or deciding its original assignment warranted its attention, turned back to the door.

 

Fists pounded on the wood of the guest room door and Tony jumped a little in his skin.

 

“Hey, old man!” It was the kid with the butterfly knife. Tony could hear the smug grin. He switched the safety off and pulled the hammer back with a click. “You gunna tell us where you’re keeping everything or do we gotta turn this place upside down?”

 

“Sorry were you referring to those Armani suits?” Tony replied, proud when his voice didn’t waver. “Told you, you’re more of an Ed Hardy guy. Stick to your aesthetic, kid. Otherwise your branding will just be confusing. You don’t know anything about corporate culture do you?”

 

“Found it!” someone shouted from what sounded like Tony’s bedroom.

 

“Damnit,” Tony swore. He aimed the gun low, to go between the bots and hit at ankle height before firing off a warning shot.

 

“ _Tony!_ ” Peter sounded horrified.

 

Tony ignored it. He had warned the kid that he wasn’t a role model.

 

“Ooooooh,” the kid with the knife’s voice carried in clearer through the hole in the door. “Looks like the old man’s got some fight in him, huh?”

 

The kid’s eye appeared, peering through the hole, pulling back just in time to avoid the second shot Tony put through the wood. Tony heard him laughing and wasn’t sure if he was relieved he hadn’t just shot a kid or just growing numb to his inevitable death sentence.

 

“Shit, he’s got like sixty grand in here!” One of the other kids said. Tony raised the gun, aiming again. Beside him, Peter made a sound like a whimper and Tony made the mistake of looking. Big brown eyes were wide and shining with fear. He stared at the gun in Tony’s hands as if Tony was holding a live cobra.

 

Tony grit his teeth and lowered the weapon.

 

“You can’t take that,” he yelled instead, words tumbling out so quickly that he struggled to keep up with his tongue. “It’s counterfeit. All of it. And connected to an illegal cock fighting ring. The second you use it to buy Juicy Fruit at a 7/11 you’ll have every SWAT team in the state on you. Trust me, don’t take it. I’m doing you a favour here.”

 

“Yeah?” Knife-kid jeered. “Think we’ll hold on to it for you. As a favour.”

 

The other kids laughed and Tony felt every bone in his body leave fall through the floor beneath him as their cackling voices got further away, taking with them sixty grand in cash and over a hundred thousand more in weed. There was no way he could find that kind of money in time. There was just no way.

 

Tony sat gingerly down at the edge of the bed, staring at the gun in his hands. Pale slender fingers carefully moved on top of his hands and he watched as Peter flicked the safety back on, dropped the clip, and emptied the chamber. The weapon was placed on the bed in its separate pieces, ammo piled up in a handful next to it all. When the bed bent a little under Peter’s weight, Tony heard the jangle of the metal shells.  

 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter’s voice was choked, and that somehow made it worse. “I didn’t think-- I just saw them harassing that girl and I thought--”

 

“It’s fine, kid,” Tony said, but his voice sounded tight. “You did the right thing.”

 

“But all your…” Peter trailed off. “Is your boss really gonna…?”

 

Tony huffed out a hollow laugh. “Who knows. Maybe my charm and good looks will save me after all, eh?”

 

“ _Christ,_ ” Peter wheezed and Tony grimaced. He threw an arm around Peter’s shoulders, squeezing gently in a way he hoped was comforting. “We’ll figure this out, Mr. Stark. I promise, okay? I’ll help you. This is my fault and--”

 

“No, you’ll do no such thing,” Tony cut him off swiftly. “This is not your fault. Last time I checked, you didn’t force me to become a drug dealer.”

 

“But you just wanted to pay tuition,” Peter argued.

 

Tony laughed again, finally able to turn and meet the kid’s concerned eyes. “Yeah, but I graduated, kid. Could’ve moved on. Done something else. But I didn’t. That’s not on you. I always knew this was a possibility, alright? Nothing you could’ve done.”

 

Peter frowned, staring down at the floor in front of them, obviously unconvinced.

 

The sudden banging on the guest door was loud and snapped them both out of their reverie. Tony looked frantically for the gun. Peter jumped out of the way, taking cover behind the bed again as Tony tried to reload the clip as fast as his trembling fingers would allow. The sharp crack of wood splintering behind him came much faster than it should have and Tony had only just managed to get the clip mostly loaded and the gun reassembled. Still he fumbled with the thing, trying to get a good grip on it when a metal fist punched straight through the door.

 

DUM-E sprayed Bucky’s arm dutifully, while U tried to hold the man still. The arm was, of course, made of much stronger stuff than either of the bots and after momentary struggle, Bucky managed to yank his arm away. The fizz and sputtering of the fire extinguisher only barely covered Bucky’s quiet ‘ _what the fuck?_ ’

 

The fist punched through the door again, reaching around until he found the handle. Bucky must’ve meant to turn the knob, but he moved his shoulder too quickly and the whole damn door came off the frame, leaving the man staring wildly at them both. Tony belatedly realized he’d still had the gun aimed at the doorway and lowered it with a deep sigh that carried relief all the way from the core of his spine. Peter’s head popped up again over the edge of the bed and his eyes brightened.

 

“Bucky! Oh, thank god.” Peter leapt to his feet and bounced nimbly across the room, squeezing between DUM-E and U to help Bucky get the door off of his arm. “We were so scared. We thought you might’ve been those guys from earlier coming back to--”

 

“What the hell happened?” Bucky’s voice cut through Peter’s rambling. He shook the rest of the splinters out of his metal arm, and took turns staring them both down with the same look Tony had tried to recreate earlier. It settled heavily on Tony and stayed there. “Why did your apartment get ransacked? No, lemme rephrase. Why did your apartment get ransacked while you _and the kid_ were in it?”

 

“It was my fault--” Peter started, but Tony cut him off.

 

“Robbery. Some punks found out I dealt, and figured that the great Mr. Tony Stark must’ve had some stuff worth stealing,” Tony explained. He couldn’t see much past the doorway of the guest room or beyond Bucky’s frame, but the shocked look on Peter’s face told him everything he needed to know. “I’m guessing they decided that was true. Wasn’t Peter’s fault. He was standing up for someone that could’ve gotten really hurt if not for him.”

 

Bucky’s gaze snapped to Peter. “You put yourself in-between some violent idiots and their target?”

 

Peter flinched.

 

“And you,” Bucky looked back at Tony and Tony looked back at the floor. Bucky gestured at the gun in his hands, and the bullet marks on the hall floor. “Did you…? Did anybody get…?”

 

Tony shook his head. “No one got shot. Or hurt. Don’t worry, counsel.”

 

Bucky gave him an odd look. Tony risked another glance and realized Bucky was still in his work clothing. The tight leather pants were accompanied by a muscle tank and what looked like an old military jacket with the left sleeve cut off. His long hair was let down and looked a bit stringy from sweat. He had a terrifying looking rifle strapped to his back (and Tony just happened to know was just a painted water gun from some of their more-- _ahem_ \--interesting shared nights) and a very real looking throwing knife holstered to his upper right thigh. Tony caught the gleam of a couple stray sparkles and bust out laughing at how much it contrasted the murderous look Bucky was giving the apartment.

 

Both Peter and Bucky looked at him in alarm, which just made it worse. Bucky looked like death himself had come to take vengeance on New York City by way of a fashionable leather-clad assassin, and next to him Peter Parker looked like even more of a string bean. It took Tony a minute to realize that Bucky towered over Peter,who was not exactly a short kid, and looked down to see the chunky heeled combat boots that were easily adding another four or five inches to Buck’s height. Laughter ripped through him again, harder this time, and Tony set the gun down on the bed before he wrapped his arms around his stomach. He wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

 

The men in front of him exchanged a couple words, and Tony caught a concerned frown from Bucky to Peter, but the details of it were lost to his own hysterics. It was just so perfect, really. Boy genius Tony Stark had screwed himself out of his own inheritance, and fucked up his choices so bad that his shining beacons of hope came in the form of a terrifying part time law-student/full-time stripper, and a gawky eighteen year old with more heart and courage than brains. Which was really saying something, since Peter was a pretty bright kid himself--

 

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice was soft, but the metal hand on his shoulder still made him jump. Bucky winced.

 

For the second time that night, Tony had someone gently untangle his fingers from around a gun. If that wasn’t just a big bundle of red flags all on bulk-sale then he didn’t know what was. Bucky put the gun on the floor beside him and crouched down so that he could look up into Tony’s face. He used his right hand to reach up and gently brush his thumb over Tony’s cheek, taking away the trail of tears Tony hadn’t even noticed forming. He leaned into the touch pitifully, unable to bring himself to give a shit what he looked like.

 

He was a dead man.

 

He knew that.

 

Bucky knew that.

 

Tony forced himself to meet the other man’s gaze and immediately burst into giggles again. Bucky looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

 

“What?” Bucky said. “What could you possibly be laughing at now, Stark?”

 

Tony reached forward and plucked the fake eyelashes that had fallen from Bucky’s right eye onto his cheek and handed them to him with a grin. “Looks like you’re falling apart, soldier.”

 

Bucky blinked at the lashes for a second then snorted, stuffing them in a pocked and plucking off the left side lashes to go with them.

 

“Sorry about that. The glue only holds for so long,” Bucky’s voice was still gentle, like he was worried he was going to spook Tony or something and it made something in the engineer’s gut squirm uncomfortably. “You uh. Are you…”

 

“Am I okay?” Tony offered dryly. “Better than okay! Why, I’m _peachy-keen_ , Barnes. Never been better.”

 

“Tony,” Bucky reprimanded with that damn look again and Tony stared down at his lap. After a moment, Bucky sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He stood there silently for a few seconds too long before nudging Tony’s shoulder with the metal hand and sliding down his arm until he could wrap around Tony’s wrist. Tony hadn’t noticed how huge his hand was before--his fingers were even overlapping his thumb with room to spare. He barely noticed the light tug, but found himself standing nonetheless, staring at Bucky in confusion.

 

“C’mon. You and Parker are with me tonight,” Bucky said evenly, tugging at Tony’s wrist again to get him moving. “He’s gone downstairs to get his stuff. He’ll be back up in a bit.”

 

“Why?” Tony blurted.

 

“The odds of an attacker visiting the scene of the crime are highest right after the crime has occurred. Don’t want either of you in the way if that happens.” Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Parker’s living alone and I suspect he thinks that just flipping the built in door locks is enough to hinder intruders. Ain’t got time to teach him basic safety protocol and I’ve already got deadbolts in place, windows sealed… All that mess. And as for you?”

 

Bucky chuffed out a laugh, and squeezed Tony’s wrist softly. He looked vaguely apologetic. “Well, at the moment you’re currently down two doors. One of which was my bad. Sorry.”

 

“No, no, don’t worry about it. That was badass. Would’ve been significantly more excited if not for the circumstances, blinding terror, and it being _my_ door.” The laugh that bubbled up in Tony’s chest surprised him. He shook his head. “But that’s not what I meant. I mean why do you care? No, that sounded harsh. I meant--”

 

“I know what you meant,” Bucky cut him off with a sharp look. “Listen, Stark. I dunno how you do it, but you can get under my skin like it’s nothin’. I go from cool and clear headed to seething in a matter of seconds. Makes the sex great but… You’re the most obnoxious asshole I’ve ever met and the smartest one to boot--no, don’t _smile_ , that’s a _bad thing_.

 

“Point is, we may not get along, Stark, but I’m not going to stand by and watch you get murdered for being an idiot.” Bucky shuffled his weight from his left to his right, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. “‘Sides. It’d look terrible on my character and fitness exam if I just let a guy get killed. Even if he was a human dumpster fire.”

 

Tony stared at him, mouth hanging open in shock. It was maybe the most words Bucky had ever said to him in one go. Definitely the most he’d ever said that were friendly. Or, well. Vaguely friendly. Complimentary, even. Tony caught up to his mind and wriggled his wrist out of Bucky’s grasp to place a hand over his heart and bat his eyelashes.

 

“Why, Bucket. I believe that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me,” Tony gave his cheesiest smile. _See? I’m okay,_ he thought, trying to steer them back towards normal. “Aren’t you just a regular knight in sexy leather armour. Ohh, _Bucky_ , you’re my _hero_!”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and started to make his way past the bots and back to the front door. “Whatever, Stark. Grab your stuff and meet me at my place.”

 

“Do I need to bring an air mattress?” the words left Tony’s mouth before he thought too hard about it and he immediately regretted it when Bucky froze in place.

 

The other man shot him an unimpressed look over his shoulder that really did marvels for his jawline.

 

“Right, yeah, stupid question,” Tony waved his hand, shooing Bucky back towards the door. “I’ll figure out something.”

 

But Bucky stayed put, giving Tony the same thoughtful expression he’d had on earlier and Tony was starting to think that that one was more terrifying than Bucky’s wrath.

 

“Nah,” Bucky shrugged and made to leave the apartment again. “Don’t worry about sleeping arrangements. You’re with me.”

 

“What about ‘no sleepovers’?” Tony called, testing his limits because he couldn’t fucking help himself.

 

Bucky laughed, not turning around. “I think this qualifies as an extraordinary situation warranting exception, Stark. Still not dating. Still not friends.”

 

“Thank god,” Tony breathed an obnoxiously loud sigh of relief and mimed wiping sweat off his forehead even though Bucky was no longer in his line of sight. “Was worried I’d have to let you down easy. And _no cuddling._ ”

 

He heard Bucky laugh again, and then he was alone in his apartment, stupid grin plastered to his face like he hadn’t faced death less than an hour ago. So he did what any sane soon-to-be-on-the-run-or-dead drug dealer would do and packed up a backpack with the essentials. Toiletries, two changes of clothing, one StarkPad, his phone, the gun, wallet, passport, and all the money he’d hidden in the guest room for emergency purposes. He figured this was probably an emergency.

 

Then he slung the bag over his shoulder and headed to Bucky’s, pointedly not looking at the wreckage those kids had made of his lab. Bucky’s door and its absurd amount of deadbolts looked more welcoming for once, anyway.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, those of you who follow me from fandom to fandom, and from pairing to pairing? You guys are strong and you will survive the winter. I don't know how you do it. Especially when I keep promising mid-length 5 chapter fics and then churning out 100k monstrosities. I swear it's not on purpose. 
> 
> If you haven't already, go read Ivo's winteriron fic, [Bucky Barnes' Unlikely Night Job](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10852059/chapters/24095943)! They're totally separate AUs, but we're going to be making snide little jokes/in-text references about each other's pieces, so really you don't wanna miss out on that. The title of Ivo's fic alone is a crack at Bucky being a stripper in this fic. I'm too tired atm to point everything else out but you all are clever, I'm sure you'll find easter eggs everywhere.
> 
> Plus it's just a goddamn awesome fic. Bodyguard AU where Bucky decides to masquerade as the Winter Soldier in order to protect his client, Tony Stark (who is absolutely sure that he's convinced Bucky he's totally not Iron Man). Featuring: Bucky being overwhelmingly tired of people feeding him bullshit, copious amount of flirting, UST, Mistaken Identity Porn, and references to Tony Stark basically being a magical girl. (JARVIS is his Luna, pass it on).


	3. Knock'em Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change! Teeechnically still no smut but like. Might as well be smut tbh. 
> 
> Recommended listening for this chapter: 
> 
> I Don't Feel So Well - Vienna Teng  
> Novocaine For The Soul - Eels  
> The Best Day - Atmosphere  
> Troublemaker - Grizfolk  
> Falling in Love Will Kill You - Wrongchilde  
> Skin Graph - Silversun Pickups  
> Seven Nation Army - The White Stripes  
> Gesture - VÉRITÉ  
> I'll Be Seeing You - Billy Holiday

When Tony woke up, he left behind a surprisingly detailed dream where he’d owned a stunning Malibu mansion. The real estate itself was pride worthy, but the lab? Oh, he had _outdone_ himself with the lab. And apparently word had gotten out. Even as a dream version of himself, he’d apparently been so concerned with the safety of his lab--no, something _in_ the lab; the bots maybe? _Something_ red and gold--that he’d actually shelled out a stupid amount of dough to put a hit out on himself. Granted, the folks who’d responded to the ad were well aware that it was a security test, but the loud crash in the adjacent living room (echoed by a sharp howl of human pain), reminded him that there was a very real possibility that his fancy-schmancy security might just kill the poor saps who were just doing their part in his experiment.

 

The feeling of it ran a chill down his spine that stayed even as he woke, like the sort of jolt that came with remembering that he’d forgotten to turn the oven off. The feeling was jarring and came with a sense of wrongness, like déjà vu’s weird moody cousin. He’d forgotten something. He was missing something. Even in the dark, he could tell that something was off. Other than not being in Malibu with that stunning lab. That was a ‘something wrong’ that he’d more or less gotten used to.

 

The smell of vanilla should’ve been all he needed, but Tony kept his eyes shut (no telling if he needed to fake being asleep for longer) and tried to scour his brain for the answers to two questions: (1) who the hell was snoring in his living room, and (2) who the hell had their--very _heavy_ , and very _cold_ \--arm wrapped around his waist?

 

It was practically rock solid. The only thing giving away the arm-like nature was in the tips of the fingers that curled around the small of his back, thumb pressed up along his spine. Not that it was unpleasant,  _per se_ , just that the weight and the chill of it made it seem almost like it was metal and--

 

_Oh._

 

Tony opened his eyes.

 

Above a mop of dark brown hair, he saw familiar exercise weights, arranged and color coded next to the water-gun rifle leaned against the wall. There was a mess of black clothing, each piece utterly indistinguishable from the pile at large save for the way the early morning light caught and shined on leather. In the far corner was a full body mirror that had been duct taped to the wall with tins of makeup, and more hair products than one human could ever possibly need arranged on the floor in front of it like a summoning circle.

 

But the red quilt hanging low on the hips of the man tucked into his arms drew him back to his immediate surroundings. Tony pulled himself away just a little, enough to confirm, and froze.

 

Bucky looked like a completely different person when he slept. The crease in his brow had vanished completely, eyebrows even tilted upwards just a little. His lips, just slightly parted, were fuller when he wasn’t pressing them into a grim line. His hair lay slack across his neck and strewn across the pillow he’d tucked one arm under. The light caught the highlights in it, and bathed the back of his head in a glow that bordered on ethereal.

 

But it was something in the way his shoulders sloped, bare skin looking sleep-soft and radiating warmth. He’d let the tension fade away, melting into the mattress and blankets like he hoped to become liquid entirely. Even the metal arm didn’t steal from the way his torso curled in gently, or the soft rise and fall of his chest. He looked so much younger without the stress of the world resting on him. So much kinder.

 

He was beautiful like this.

 

Tony felt like he wasn’t meant to see it.

 

Like he should be out in the living room, snoring with Peter. He wasn’t welcome in this part of Bucky’s life. They fought like cats and dogs when either of them had enough air in their lungs to speak. Seeing the way his eyelashes spread impossibly long on his cheeks ought to be a privilege reserved for someone who hadn’t once broken Bucky’s nose and totaled his car all in one evening.

 

And it was especially not something he should be privy to after he’d nearly gotten himself and Peter killed the night before. The memories came crashing back with panic to spare and Tony tried to squirm out from under that metal arm. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had to leave. He had to--

 

The metal fingertips curled sharply against his back and pulled him back in effortlessly. The whirring of the arm was startlingly loud in the silence of the apartment, but still Bucky shifted to get a better grip until Tony’s waist was in the crook of his elbow and the mechanical hand was pressed flat against his back. Bucky tucked his face into Tony’s chest, breath warm on his collarbone, and the smell of vanilla shampoo made his eyes unfocus. Their legs were tangled together and Tony felt the other man’s knees push up under his own as if he hoped to encircle Tony completely.

 

To be fair, it worked. Tony felt so much smaller, held like he was. His hand was wedged between them, and his knees were curled up almost to his chest. Bucky had sandwiched Tony’s feet between his thighs at some point during the night and all Tony could think about was how, despite being half out of the blankets, he’d never felt warmer.

 

He let his eyes fall shut again, selfishly treasuring the safety he was wrapped in, and pressed his nose into Bucky’s hair. It was overwhelming in the kind of way that made his mind go quiet, and Tony had nearly lost himself in the feel of it, nearly passed out in Bucky’s arms, when he heard it.

 

His eyes flew open again and he listened carefully. It took a couple minutes, but the stillness of the room fractured when a quiet whine reverberated from Bucky’s chest. It didn’t sound real. Didn’t sound like the Bucky he knew at all--what with the scowls that could freeze someone over from ten blocks away, or the snarled threats, or even the occasional desert-dry quips. It was needy and scared and--

 

There it was again. A bit louder this time. Bucky’s chest shook unevenly under Tony’s hand and the man pressed harder into Tony. The arm against Tony’s back was unforgiving, and Bucky clung to him like he hoped to fit himself between Tony’s ribs. A choked cry, sharp and heart-wrenching, tore Tony from his shock.

 

This was why there was a rule about sleeping over, he realized, staring at the scar lines that traced over the crest of Bucky’s hipbone. Bucky had _nightmares_.

 

Tony swallowed thickly. He didn’t do this kind of thing. The _comfort_ thing. He’d never been good at it. He was all jokes and gifts of beer and little inventions to make the dull stuff easier. Tony wasn’t the guy you called when you needed someone to hold back your hair. He knew that. But--another half-sob sliced at Tony’s heart--if Bucky kept it up, he’d wake up Peter. And if Bucky was half as embarrassed by his nightmares as Tony was?

 

Well. Just the idea of the kid knowing how badly the arc reactor could get under his skin sometimes was… unpleasant.

 

So Tony took another deep breath, letting the smell of vanilla and sweat drown out his anxiety, and slowly moved his arm out from between them. Bucky whined again, pressing himself against Tony harder still and Tony was pretty sure his back was going to bruise.

 

“Shh, shh, I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and running his fingers through long, dark hair. He worked gently on a tangle, smoothing it out and tucking the mussed strands behind Bucky’s ear. “I’m right here, Buck. You’re okay.”

 

Bucky’s breathing hitched but he didn’t cry out, so Tony counted it as a win. He kept petting the other man’s hair, toying with the ends and scratching his nails lightly against Bucky’s scalp, muttering nonsensical reassurances. The rise and fall of Bucky’s chest had almost evened out completely when Tony felt the other man’s shoulders stiffen.

 

Bucky leaned back, eyes open and staring at Tony like he wasn’t entirely sure who he was or how he’d made it into Bucky’s bed. And at that moment? Tony wasn’t sure he could answer the question coherently either. The pale morning light that washed over the man’s face gentled the edges of his frown and made already pale blue eyes look crystalline. Tony knew he was staring but he couldn’t think of anything else he should be doing. Or could be doing. He couldn’t _think_.

 

Those eyes widened slowly, in comprehension, then something else. Bucky’s jaw twitched and he swallowed, looking sharply away from Tony’s face. But he didn’t look angry. Tony frowned, and combed his fingers through Bucky’s hair again. The man’s eyes fluttered shut, but he had to squeeze them to keep them there and--

 

Ah.

 

“Hey. It’s alright,” Tony muttered. “Really. I get them too. Can still feel the heat from the arc reactor sometimes. Like it melted into me when it blew. Just can’t shake it.”

 

Bucky’s eyes were still screwed shut tightly, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. So Tony did what Tony did best and kept talking.

 

“Wake up sometimes and I’ve ripped off everything. The blankets, clothing… Everything. It gets too hot and I--” Tony swallowed. “Can’t handle it. Never know when it’s going to happen. Just that it does.”

 

The lashes on Bucky’s cheeks twitched just a little before Bucky decided to close the gap between them again and tuck his nose into the crook of Tony’s neck. The metal thumb on his back stroked in reassuring circles and Tony felt his mouth against his skin, opened and shut like Bucky was about to speak and then changed his mind in the last second.

 

“You don’t have to hide that from me.” Tony spoke into the top of Bucky’s head and ran his hand down the other man’s back. “I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but that’s the kind of thing that stays off limits. Would never hold it against you, Buck. Never.”

 

Bucky stilled again and Tony was briefly sure that he’d fucked up somehow. His own heart raced as Bucky pulled away again to stare at Tony. The gentleness was back in his features, and the look on his face was something that Tony didn’t quite know how to place. Like Bucky hadn’t fully woken up yet, and was seeing someone entirely different from Tony. He leaned up into Tony, and their noses brushed in a way that made Tony’s heart leap into his throat. Bucky’s lips, full and red, were so close and all he would have to do was lean in just a little. They’d kissed before. It wasn’t like this was different.

 

Except it was. Somehow. And the feeling of it was running jitters up under Tony’s skin like electricity. His pulse beat loud in his ears and he summoned up the courage he didn’t know he had to tuck his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, cradling his jaw and tilting his face up closer to his own. The other man moved soft like clay under his touch.

 

 _Don’t overthink it,_ he prayed to his own damn mind desperately. _Just count to three and do it._

 

 _One_.

 

Bucky’s eyes flickered down to Tony’s lips and back up again.

 

_Two--_

 

The shrill alarm coming from the living room ripped him out of the moment and made him jump out of his own damn skin. He sat up, eyes wide, and felt Bucky sit up next to him.

 

“Hrrnnggghhh,” Peter’s voice floated in. “Nnnghh. F’ve more minutes. Jus’ five.”

 

Bucky heaved himself to his feet and lurched towards his bedroom door. He grumbled something into the living room that Peter responded to with a high-pitched whine. Tony was pretty sure he heard some vague threats relating to going to class, alarm clock snooze buttons, and the capacity of the metal arm to _crush_ aforementioned alarm clocks. He was also pretty sure that he probably shouldn’t find the thought of Bucky’s arm crushing anything to be hot, but then again Tony had left the spectrum of normal human behaviour when he was about three.

 

More low snarled threats about the importance of education slid through the open bedroom door as Tony dug in his backpack for fresh clothing. Peter shuffled around out there with all the grace of a stampede of elephants and Tony muffled his own laughter more than once when the kid--apparently fearless in his exhaustion--tried to argue with Bucky through soft whines and pitiful sounding excuses. But the other man was having none of it. The sound of toast popping out of a toaster punctuated the end of a particularly melodramatic attempt at human communication, followed by a surprised yelp.

 

Tony tugged the clean shirt on over his head as he peeked out into the hallway just in time to see Bucky shove the piece of toast unceremoniously into Peter’s mouth when he tried to argue, then steer him towards the door by the shoulders.

 

“Bu--”

 

“No. You can’t skip class.” Bucky moved the kid with ease. “College is a privilege. Don’t waste it.”

 

Peter spun in Bucky’s grasp, still pouting around a mouthful of toast, eyes wide. “Buh I ‘lmoss goh mmphrr--”

 

“No, you didn’t ‘almost get murdered.’” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Besides, y’know what the difference between murder and attempted murder is, kid?”

 

“Wha?”

 

“You’re still alive and perfectly capable of going to class.”

 

Tony snorted, and Peter turned those big doe eyes on him instead.

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Tony warned. “You listen to your father, young man. We did not raise you to treat your education as optional.”

 

“You didn’t raise me--”

 

“ _Out,_ ” Bucky snapped at them both. “Out of my goddamn apartment. Hospitality is over. Get _out._ ”

 

Tony smirked at Peter, not at all above sticking his tongue out, before ducking back into the bedroom to finish making sure his backpack was ready to go. He’d pulled on his shoes and was going through the pockets one more time when he heard Bucky’s meaningful cough behind him.

 

“I know, I know, I’m working on it,” Tony reassured, waving half-heartedly over his shoulder. “Just making sure everything’s secure. I don’t want to accidentally shoot my own ass if the subway jostles me. That would be a tragedy of national scale.”

 

“Is that so?” Bucky’s voice was still a little hoarse from sleep, but the acidity was back.

 

It was synonymously comforting and alarming to reconcile it with the same man that had been so soft and vulnerable against Tony’s chest not too much earlier. Maybe he’d dreamed it. Tony’d certainly had weirder dreams.

 

Bucky moved to Tony’s line of sight, arms crossed uncomfortably over his chest and his expression a familiar shade of dower irritation. But his eyes weren’t on Tony. They were on his backpack.

 

“Are you going to…” He trailed off, pursed his lips then tried again. “Did you take your gun with you?”

 

“I did just tell you about the danger my ass is in.” Tony feigned irritation. “C’mon, Buck. Keep up.”

 

“And do you intend to use it?” Bucky asked, as calm as anything.

 

Tony blinked at him, down at the backpack, then up again. The weight of it felt a bit heavier than it should’ve and Tony didn’t have the time or energy to examine that moral can of worms. Instead, he let his best lazy grin slide across his face, taking private delight in the wariness it prompted from Bucky.

 

“Of course not. I, an upstanding citizen, would never even consider stooping to such means.” Tony fluttered his eyelashes as he spoke and pulled the backpack on. “I am a _pacifist_ , Mr. Barnes.”

 

Bucky looked unimpressed, but didn’t push the issue. So Tony took the opportunity to escape. He’d shouldered his way past the bedroom door and had his hand on the doorknob when he heard Bucky call out his name again. Or at least he thought he had. When he turned around, Bucky looked as surprised as he did. Something similar to the gentleness he’d seen earlier flashed across the other man’s features and Tony frowned.

 

“Did you say something, Buck?”

 

“No.” Bucky shook his head and used his metal hand to tuck wayward strands of bedhead behind his ear. “No, didn’t say nothin’.”

 

Tony shrugged. “If you say so.”

 

* * *

 

It had taken all of ten minutes for Hammer’s cronies to find Tony, shove him into a stretch limo, and drive him out to hotel that--according to Google maps--didn’t _exist_.

 

“Tony, _baby_ ,” Hammer had crooned at him. The massive aquarium behind him was more like a small ocean and the _giant fucking orca whale_ in it didn’t exactly dispute the illusion. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”

 

“A big--?” Tony had spluttered. " _A big deal?_ You’re asking me to smuggle enough explosives across the border to take out most of Papua New Guinea.”

 

“For a good cause!” Hammer had smiled bright and broad and fake as shit. “Don’t you want to get rid of illegal arms?”

 

“Well, yes, but--”

 

“And Tony, darling, I wasn’t going to tell you this, I really wasn’t,” Hammer’s false sympathy made his skin crawl, “but it’s Stark tech weaponry. Not the real deal as far as being on the books goes, if you know what I mean, but--”

 

“What?” Tony had frozen to the spot.

 

“The armoury I want you to destroy for my friends,” Hammer had said like it was simple. “Chock full of unmarked Stark tech weaponry. No labels, no traces. Dangerous stuff, you know that.”

 

Tony had listened numbly as Hammer detailed for him how he was going to fill an RV with enough chemical materials to blow up the entire state of Wyoming, how Tony was going to drive that along with some spare parts across the border to an ex-terrorist cell that apparently wanted to call it quits. Wanted him to destroy the traces of their weapons, of their headquarters. Like it was on par with calling for a _goddamn pizza guy_.

 

Listened as Hammer detailed to him without so many words exactly how many international laws he would be breaking over the course of the next week.

 

“And! You get to take out Stark tech weapons in the process! Can even bring back some evidence to convict the old man too, if you want. You like that, don’t you?” Hammer had grinned, looking sickly with greed. “That you get to make a cool half-mil off of it doesn’t hurt, does it? You can retire, Tony! Get out of the game for good!”

 

“But--” Tony had tried to protest weakly.

 

“See, here’s the thing, pumpkin-pie,” Hammer had pouted exaggeratedly, tapping Tony’s cheek with his finger. “You don’t have a fucking _choice_.”

 

And now? Now Tony was outside his apartment building, the one that held his wrecked apartment and Tony absolutely wasn't pacing.

 

He wasn't.

 

It was more of an exaggerated power walk. And walking in place looked stupid, so. A couple strides to the left, a couple back towards the stairwell, a couple to the right… because pacing required a back and forth. Something linear. This was not linear. Therefore, he was not pacing. Which was great because he would only be pacing if he was panicking.

 

Which he absolutely was not doing.

 

“At least he's not going to kill you,” Peter said, with an expression that explained those words as an attempt to be helpful. “And it's not like you haven't committed crime before, y’know?”

 

“There's crime, and then there's _crime_ , Peter,” Tony snapped. “Dealing weed is minor. Even if it wasn't getting legalized rapidly, I'm famous enough that it would just be a slap on the wrist. Some community service and maybe putting up with a whole new strain of gossip mags for the rest of my life. The same shit I would get for a speeding ticket with the delightful addition of newbie paparazzi getting their kicks by asking me about my opinions on 420.”

 

“What's 420?” Peter tilted his head to the side.

 

Tony stared at him in disbelief. “Aren't you a college student?”

 

“I'm a freshman,” Peter shrugged. “Only been here one semester. And I don't have a ton of friends, in case you hadn't noticed.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Tony took a deep breath before he said something unduly harsh. “Maybe if you didn't spend all your time following around some washed up child prodigy you'd be popular in no time.”

 

Peter snorted. “You're not washed up, Tony. If you would submit even one of your prosthetic schematics to a research foundation--or, hell, even patent it so that you could manufacture--”

 

“No. It's not for sale,” Tony snapped. “And it's certainly not for profit. Christ, kid. I wanted to abandon weapons because profiting off of war is fucked up. Why would I want to profit off of amputees in need?”

 

“If you don't copyright that stuff soon, someone else will,” Peter pointed out oh-so-helpfully. The kid was practically batting his eyelashes and Tony wanted to shove him in a dunce cap that read 'obnoxious teacher's pet’ in thick sharpie. He jutted his chin out challengingly, and continued, “someone like Hammer. Who has no compunctions about profiting off of the needy.”

 

“If Bucky caught you calling him 'needy’ he'd throw you off a building. You know that right?”

 

“The point still stands.”

 

“No. No it doesn't,” Tony shook his head. “I'm not going to take my designs away from the public domain because people shouldn't have to pay for--”

 

“Just the cost of production!”

 

“No,” Tony said again, more firmly. “Anyway, if you aren't going to help me figure out how to commit an international war crime, shouldn't you be in class or something? Or do you spend all your time mooning away at optimistic bullshit?”

 

Peter sniffed haughtily. “It's not optimism. It's _realism_.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Go to class. Go on. Scram. Shoo.”

 

“I don't even have class for another two hours!” Peter protested.

 

Tony could hear the same whine that had been pointed at Bucky that morning hidden somewhere in the kid's tone. Sure enough, big brown eyes widened impossibly only seconds later and Tony was caught under the scrutiny like a deer in Emotional Teenage Headlights. The lower lip was even wobbling a little. Incredible.

 

“Do you do this to your professors too?” Tony demanded. “Or am I special?”

 

Peter grinned at him. “Of course you’re special. You’re my mentor.”

 

“No, nope. Not this again--”

 

“C’mon, you can walk me to class if you’re so worried,” Peter hopped up off the stair he had been sitting on and dusted off the backs of his jeans. His shoulder bag rested easily against his side and the kid’s wiry frame tilted under the weight of it. All five pounds of it.

 

Peter walked past him towards the sidewalk and gave Tony an impatient look over his shoulder as soon as he had realized the man hadn’t moved. Tony briefly considered telling the kid that he wasn’t some doting soccer mom--Peter could walk his own damn self to class. Memories of the night before flashed behind his eyelids, reminding him sharply that he had nearly gotten the kid killed. The least he could do was humour him. For a little bit.

 

But he was going to complain about it the whole time. Tony tipped his head back and groaned dramatically before fishing in his backpack for his favourite pair of aviators and a baseball cap.  

 

Peter eyed the hat and glasses before fixing him with that Look that meant he was about to start asking questions Tony wasn’t going to like. “Why do the paparazzi still harass you? The arc reactor incident was over ten years ago.”

 

“Washed out _and_ old,” Tony muttered. “Wow, you’re going right for the jugular, kid.”

 

“No, no, that’s not what I--”

 

Tony waved a hand to appease him. “I know, I know.”

 

Truthfully the paparazzi weren’t much of a problem anymore, save for occasions where he had to explicitly identify himself. Of course there would always be the rare gossip piece whenever Tony made the mistake of socializing (or as Rhodey would phrase it: ‘going a little too hard’) around people with camera phones. Speculation as to whether the banished heir was finally ready to make amends, or if he was going to fight his father’s company to the death. All very dramatic stuff often based off of an inappropriate shirt or a poorly timed keg stand.

 

“You know when you’re in the grocery checkout lane and there’s magazines, right?” Tony said, waiting for Peter’s nod before continuing. If the kid didn’t know what 420 was, he wasn’t going to assume that he knew anything without checking. “There’s the actual magazines with articles and glossy covers, and then there’s the ones that look like they’re printed on old newspaper. And it always seems like it’s the same four or five celebs fucking something up over and over again. Right?”

 

Peter nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

 

“That’s because, through all their bullshit, those celebrities managed to get name recognition. Their names and faces were just memorable enough that those magazines plucked them out like puppets and string along bored citizens with nothing better to do with their time than speculate wildly on who’s fucking who, or who’s pregnant, and is the baby daddy married, and on and on, ad nauseum.” Tony rolled his wrist for emphasis.

 

“And because your name and face are recognizable…” Peter nodded, understanding.

 

“Bingo. I’m easy fodder.” Tony grinned hollowly. “Personally, I think I’m phenomenally entertaining and can totally understand the appeal of following my life story in painful detail. However, that makes it awfully hard to do things like--”

 

“--sell drugs?”

 

“Like selling drugs, yes,” Tony puffed, irritated to have been beaten to the punch. “Or, y’know. Smuggling insane amounts of illegally produced explosives and military grade weaponry across the Mexican border. But I’ve been told that’s difficult regardless.”

 

Peter laughed a little at that and Tony counted it as a victory. Might as well get as many one-liners in before he got shot execution style in an empty warehouse south of the border somewhere. Even that was a bit optimistic, if Tony was being honest with himself.

 

He thought about the schematics for prosthetics he’d been designing. Bucky’s was the only prototype to ever actually receive testing, but he’d built whole hoards of artificial body parts. Legs and arms had just been the start. He had a design for an artificial spine that--in theory--could assist in the healing of a damaged spinal cord through carefully timed micro-shocks. But that, like the artificial liver, GI system, lungs and heart he’d designed, all relied on a fully functioning arc reactor.

 

Tony glanced over at the kid while they walked. The innocence in his face was still stupidly obvious. He would absolutely be the first to look up if Tony told him that ‘gullible’ was written on the ceiling. He’d be that kid that politely says they’re not seeing it, and ask for clarification.

 

Trusting. Trusting was the word Tony was looking for. Trusting and full of so much hope that it made Tony kinda queasy just watching it from afar. Like the kid had never actually come to terms with some things genuinely being impossible. For example, Tony Stark being a desirable and worthwhile mentor.

 

Peter was staring at the campus ahead of them intently, and it was easy to forget that the kid was hiding away a machine of a brain behind all ingenuity and sincerity. He had the same look to him that Tony had seen on countless classmates--the ones that always gave him a run for his money when they had robot battles, or competing presentations. That soft determination wasn’t something to be underestimated.

 

It seemed right to leave the bots and schematics to Peter. He already had so many ideas about them and his heart was in the right place. Plus, Tony couldn’t think of anything that would piss off Howard more than a kid brandishing optimism like a weapon and holding genuine Stark crafting designs.

 

Yeah. He’d have to make a note of that. Somewhere. In a will, Tony supposed. The whole concept left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

Peter’s hand whacked across his chest and yanked him out of his thoughts, both of them coming to an abrupt halt. The kid’s eyes were wide and he pointed ahead of them towards the main gate into campus. Protesters filled the streets with signs demanding better of their politicians, demanding transparency, and demanding the respect of their rights. It didn’t seem to really have a theme to it other than Angry.

 

But that didn’t stop the press. Boom mics and heavy cameras formed a concave wall around the huge cluster of students, reporters ducking in and out with their hand-held mics, notepads, and--shit--that guy even had an old tape recorder.

 

“What am I looking at?” Tony asked.

 

“It’s a protest,” Peter explained as if it was the most helpful thing in the world.

 

“Gosh, really?”

 

“No, Tony look.” Peter pointed again at the reporters.

 

“Yes, the paparazzi. We just talked about this--”

 

“Tony, oh my god. _Look_. Look at where the students are,” Peter said irritably. “Now look where the police are. And look where the reporters are.”

 

“Police on the outside, reporters in the middle, kids on the inside,” Tony drawled. “I’m not seeing anything revolutionary here, Peter. Are you sure you’re cut out for this college thing? It’s not too late to become the world’s worst bartender. You might even learn what 420 is.”

 

Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Why can’t the police reach the students?” he spoke slowly, as if talking to a child. Tony could feel his hackles raised before the kid even finished the sentence.

 

“Because the reporters are in the way,” he snapped. “What does that have to do with--Oh.”

 

“There you go.”

 

“ _Ohhh_.” Tony stared wide-eyed at the crowd. “The police aren’t bothering the protesters because it’s not worth fighting the press for something so minor.”

 

“Exactly,” Peter nodded. “The press is shielding the protestors.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, no need to rub it in,” Tony talked faster, one hand coming up to smooth over his goatee. “Instead of hiding who I am and trying to sneak past the border I could make a huge scene of it. Make it impossible to get through to me so long as I can keep the attention of paparazzi--”

 

Peter was already walking directly for the crowd, excited smile across his face. Tony spluttered then ran after him.

 

“Peter, wait, hold on. Kid, wait--”

 

“This is exactly what you need!” Peter whirled around and grinned at him. “Don’t get cold feet now.”

 

“Cold feet?” Tony spat. “I’m not getting cold feet. Christ, Peter, I’m not about to chicken out of a fucking _wedding_. I just want to take some time to think things through, and--”

 

“Mr. Stark!” One of the nearby reporters had honed in on him like a vulture. Her eyes were sparkling like she’d found the hit of the goddamn century and a small flock of the younger, more inexperienced paparazzi followed her. “What were you saying about getting cold feet before your wedding?”

 

“Well, I, uhm,” Tony gaped at them stupidly, and adjusted his hat and glasses. “Of course not. I just had a little trouble tracking down enough dolphin trainers willing to transport their animals in the dead of winter. There are logistics concerns, you see, and I wanted the ceremony to be perfect. For my spouse. Who was there. But that’s not really--”

 

“It’s okay, Dad,” Peter said, putting a hand on Tony’s arm. Those giant doe eyes were back with a shy little smile and judging by the clicks of the camera, the press were loving it. Tony had never felt more betrayed in his entire life. “You can tell me if you’re nervous about our trip. You don’t have to hide it from me. It’s your honeymoon, too.”

 

“Mr. Stark, is this kid your son?” one of the reporters interjected.

 

Tony was about to throw Peter under the goddamn bus without hesitation when a commotion behind the gaggle of reporters that had found him caught his attention. The thinned out line of press had left an opening for the police officers who now seemed more than happy to handcuff some of the youth that didn’t know when to stop screaming obscenities in officers’ faces for the sake of justice. Tony swallowed thickly and realized a moment too late that he’d waited too long to answer.

 

“When was your child conceived, Mr. Stark?”

 

“Who’s the kid’s mother?”

 

“Why did you keep him away from the public eye? Were you afraid that things would work out as they did between you and your own father?”

 

Tony scowled at the reporter that had asked the last question, and had his mouth open ready to snarl something particularly nasty when Peter interjected again.

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry guys,” he turned those doe eyes at the cameras and Tony watched them all take a respectful step back. Un- _fucking_ -believable. “It’s just going to be our first vacation together as a family, and I got so excited, and… I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to draw attention to us.”

 

The buzz increased tenfold and Tony had to hand it to the kid. He could work a crowd. Holy shit.

 

“Mr. Stark where are you taking your child?”

 

“Is the mother still in the picture? Or did she abandon you both?”

 

“No,” Tony snapped, finally finding his voice. “No one’s abandoned. There’s no mother.”

 

Exasperation passed over Peter’s face in a flash and Tony realized what he’d said.

 

“No, wait. Hold on. That’s not what I meant. He’s adopted, and, uh--”

 

“I have two dads,” Peter said, jutting his chin out and puffing up his chest proudly. It was pathetic. Tony didn’t know whether to be proud or horrified. The kid took a challenging fucking step towards the reporters. “So what if my dads are taking me to Mexico with them to celebrate my adoption and their honeymoon. Is that a problem?”

 

“ _What_?” Tony hissed. “No. You’re _not_ coming. It’s too dangerous--”

 

“Are you going to leave your son behind for the trip, Mr. Stark?”

 

“Are you saying that you are considering bring your newly adopted son into a dangerous situation? How does your husband feel about that?”

 

Tony’s heart plummeted. Peter had gotten himself tangled up in this mess good. God _damnit_.

 

“Alright, _junior_ ,” Tony grinned, and by the way Peter flinched, the kid caught the underlying venom. Tony pressed a firm hand down on Peter’s shoulder and hauled him away from the reporters. He spoke loudly, “This isn’t the time and place for this talk, alright?”

 

Peter’s smile couldn’t have been more smug and Tony was going to throw the kid off a building himself. Let that be a lesson from his great mentor. _Hah_.

 

“Fine, Dad,” Peter rolled his eyes with so much exaggeration that Tony nearly made a snide remark about them falling out, and only clamped down on the urge because it was a classic dad joke. “But promise we’ll talk later, okay? I’m so excited! To go to Mexico! With you and Pop!”

 

Peter practically chortled and leaned forward on his toes to plant a kiss on Tony’s cheek. It took all the willpower Tony Stark had been carefully saving up over the past ten or so years not to yelp and wipe off his cheek.

 

“See you later, _Dad_!” Peter waved, looking the perfect part of an obedient son heading off to get his education. And condemning himself to involvement in a potentially bloody war crime.

 

The glimmer of mischief in his eyes felt like a personal attack on Tony and wow. _Wow_ . He was not going to forget about this. No bots for Peter. No schematics. _Nothing_.

 

It took a full forty minutes of trying to lose the paparazzi on his tail and another twenty after that of just finding his way back to his apartment for local news stations to already be chatting up a storm about the ‘sighting’ of Tony Stark and theories about his ‘son.’ Like he was some kind of cryptid instead of a handsome thirty-something bachelor that was definitely _not_ a father. Tony scowled and pointedly ignored the babbling of daytime anchors as he passed by shops and maybe that’s why it took so long for the other shoe to drop. Or perhaps it was willful repression.

 

Either way, it was only when he’d stepped over his own busted in front door and pulled out his own StarkPad to start assessing the damage that he caught it.

 

“Who knows how and why Tony’s been keeping his son from us, Judith,” a man with the world’s most boring haircut said with a smile so fake it might have actually been plastic. “But I know I sure am excited to meet our new mystery man; the other Mr. Stark! And I don’t mean Howard!”

 

“Oh!” the woman next to him, Judith presumably, burst into scandalized giggles. “Oh, Tom you’re bad! Still, you’re right! After so long as a playboy, just who is the lucky guy that managed to tie down the rogue heir to Stark Industries?”

 

Shit. Shit. He needed a husband. Tony felt the panic settle into his lungs and his breathing started to get shallow. Bruce was gone indefinitely for an award ceremony where he was the guest of honour. Rhodey had been on active duty for the past two years and couldn’t exactly come at a moment’s notice (Could he? No. Tony shut that idea down quickly. He didn’t need to add treason to his CV). And that was it. That was the full extent of Tony’s list of male friends. All two of them.

 

And if that wasn’t the most depressing thing, he’d ever--

 

Tony stopped short, staring out of his splintered broken doorway. His eyes locked on the little red star painted above the number on Bucky’s apartment.

 

No.

 

Absolutely _not_.

 

He would just have to hire someone. Or kidnap a hobo. Or. Maybe he could say his husband died suddenly. No, then they wouldn’t have a reason to go to Mexico. God. They were going to go on a manhunt for his non-existent husband and uncover a trail of drug dealing and petty crime. And then they’d put Peter through hell and back once his ‘dad’ was hauled off to jail. Y’know, if and only if they didn’t get busted with insane amounts of illegal explosives and military grade weaponry. Because Peter had to force himself into the little escapade.

 

“Shit,” Tony breathed. “Shit, fuck, _fuck. Shit_.”

 

The little red star stared back at him innocently and Tony had never hated Bucky’s friends more for painting the damn thing. Why couldn’t he have just been inconspicuous? Why did Bucky have to show up so intensely in Tony’s life? Without him, Tony wouldn’t have gotten into a fist fight on the night he was supposed to impress his father. He wouldn’t have a crooked nose, and he wouldn’t have had to take up dealing to pay for his own degree once he got formally disowned. Maybe he still would’ve been talking to his parents. Maybe they would be on good terms by now.

 

He knew it wasn’t true, but bile still rose up in the back of his throat and reminded him why Bucky Barnes could never really be a friend. But… Bucky didn’t have to be a friend to be his fake husband.

 

He snorted and wondered if that would just prompt a new rule. ‘No marriage.’

 

Tony pressed and held the power button on the StarkPad, let his eyes close, and sighed for what felt like an hour. He was going to kill his _fake_ _son_. But first he was probably going to _be_ killed by his _fake husband._

 

Tony concluded that all-in-all, the orca had been the least weird part of his day.

 

**To: Mr. Winter Smolder, Esq.**

 

I need a favour. Can give you 60k for it. Call me ASAP. It’s an emergency.

 

* * *

 

There were approximately one thousand, seven hundred and thirty-two reasons why he never would have expected to be standing outside the local strip joint, _Red Room_ , which happily boasted to have ‘ _Boys! Boys! Boys!_ ’ via a flashing neon sign. There were exactly seven thousand more reasons as to why he never expected to be there while wearing a backpack containing miscellaneous belongings as well as a standard issue Stark Industries handgun. There were _at least_ ninety-two thousand more on top of that regarding why he never expected to be doing all of the above and thinking ‘do it for Peter.’

 

Nevertheless, here he was.  

 

The baseline of whatever was playing inside the joint was pounding loud enough that Tony wasn’t sure if he was actually hearing it or just feeling the vibrations through the tar parking lot. Gaggles of men and women both skittered inside like it was some huge secret, passing by Tony with furtive glances and barely hushed whispers. Which, in all honesty, he supposed was fair. He did spend the better part of an afternoon getting tased and threatened by a guy with an orca. Plus it wasn’t his best day as far as street fashion went.

 

The closer he got to the club, the more he could smell cheap perfume mixed with a potent wave of men’s deodorant. He cringed, eyeing the line that wrapped around the side of the building. The group he was behind shot him curious looks that he didn’t particularly want to deal with, so he focused all his attention on his phone instead. Bucky still hadn’t answered the first text. Because of course he hadn’t.

 

**To: Mr. Winter Smolder, Esq.**

 

You weren’t answering so I found the Red Room. I want to reiterate: it is an emergency. Also it took me all of thirty seconds to find you online. You need to protect your information better.

 

He waited a couple seconds, then sent a follow up text.  

 

**To: Mr. Winter Smolder, Esq.**

 

And don’t get mad. At least not more-so than usual. Standard levels of murderous, only. I’ve had a long day.

 

The line barely inched forward. There was a woman with blood red hair at the front of it who was checking IDs, taking payment for something, and speaking with the guests in hushed tones before unhooking the end of one end of the velvet cord barring the entrance and ushering them each in one at a time. Her eyes flicked to Tony, catching him staring, and he quickly went back to his phone.

 

**To: Mr. Winter Smolder, Esq.**

 

Is being terrifying a requirement for working here? The chick out front is giving me nightmares. I’m making you pay for my therapy.

 

Another click of metal and there’s only two groups between him and the door. Posters line the windows, keeping everything inside hidden from view and presumably blocking out any potential for sunlight. Like the strippers might catch on fire if seen in daylight or something. But next to a poster of a very enthusiastic fireman was a poster that made the whole trip worth it. Possibly even made the whole being threatened by Hammer thing worth it too. A grin stretched across Tony’s face so wide that it hurt.

 

There, right before his very eyes, was a poster about the Winter Soldier--Bucky’s stage persona. And sure enough, there was Bucky in the center of it, oiled to hell and back and staring into the camera like it had murdered his family. Hands from people off to either side reached out and stroked across his chest, tugged at his chin, and shoved the water gun rifle into his hands. Whoever had been in charge of photoshopping the whole thing deserved a Nobel Peace Prize. They’d taken the tacky steam that surrounded Bucky and had turned the contrast and saturation so high that the man looked like he was actually glowing.

 

The arm in the photo was the old one, but they’d even added extra shine to it. The way it wrapped around the muzzle of the gun was probably supposed to add to the whole pretty-in-a-murderous-sort-of-way vibe that the whole poster had going, but Tony snickered. That old thing wouldn’t have been fit to crush walnuts.

 

But it was the text beneath it that sold the show. Marketing genius, really.

 

‘LIVE show! Fully choreographed performance--with ensemble!’

 

‘Leather fans--get excited!’

 

‘Pay an extra $5 for the chance to be chosen from the audience! Will you be the Winter Soldier’s mission?’

 

Tony snapped about ten thousand photos of it. He was going to get them printed and laminated. Pass them out around campus maybe. Definitely hang one up on every single one of his walls. The ‘hang in there!’ kitten posters would never be able to hold a candle to his moody neighbor oiled, glowing, and glowering at him from under bright pink script reading: ‘he only follows the _nastiest_ orders!’

 

Tony giggled. He couldn’t help it. It was like Christmas had come early. He sent one of the photos to Bucky via text.

 

**To: Mr. Winter Smolder, Esq.**

 

YOU’VE BEEN HOLDING OUT ON ME.

 

“Next?” A woman’s voice, thickly accented in what sounded like Russian.

 

Tony blinked at the woman with the red hair, realizing belatedly that he’d been holding up the line in taking photos of what was undoubtedly shaping up to be the best thing that had ever happened to him. He sauntered over to her, thumb swiping across his phone screen until a flower crown filter applied to the Winter Soldier’s face and his whole visage was outlined in sparkles. Even the woman’s glare couldn’t rip him from cloud nine, and it was fierce enough to rival Bucky’s.

 

“Hi there,” Tony grinned. “One ticket to see the Winter Soldier, please. With the added chance to be his mission, if you don’t mind.”

 

One perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised up slowly, and the woman’s eyes slid down Tony’s person and back up again. On anyone else, Tony might have assumed they were checking him out. But the cold that emanated from her made it read more like an assessment of a threat. His smile faltered just a little and he looked down at her name tag. ‘Natasha R.’

 

“Have you worked here long, Nat? Can I call you Nat?”

 

“No,” she said flatly, swiping a few options away on the surface of the StarkPad she was using. It was dinged up pretty badly on the corners and the screen protector was splintered across the middle. Tony clenched his fingers into fists to prevent himself from snatching it out of her grasp and trying to take it back with him to his lab. Instead, he tried to focus on her face again.

 

“No you haven’t worked here long, or--”

 

“ID?” she interrupted.

 

“Right, sure, of course,” he nodded, and dug around in his pockets for his wallet. He paused for a second, fingers hesitating over the plastic casing around his driver's license, staring at his last name. He frowned. “Is it really necessary? I’m obviously over twenty-one. Look, I’m even starting to grey early--”

 

“I need to see your identification,” she said, looking up at him with an eerie sort of calm.

 

Tony scowled and handed her the card. “Yeah, sure. Fine. Whatever.”

 

Her eyes scanned over the plastic in one smooth sweep, pausing only momentarily on his name. She looked back up at him with a small smile that he didn’t like one bit. He swallowed and ignored the upset grumbling at the back of his head when she handed the card back to him. He sort of snapped the wallet around it like a pair of tongs instead of taking it directly and tried adamantly to ignore the way her smile grew.

 

“Is this your first time seeing the Winter Soldier’s performance?” She asked with practiced ease.

 

“Yep,” he shuffled the card back into place and tucked it into his back pocket. “Long time fan, though. Nothing sexier than a guy that looks like he might strangle you with your own charging cable.”

 

“Mm,” Natasha hummed in agreement and it reminded him sharply of Bucky when the man wasn’t really paying attention. “Then you are familiar with the risks involved in his routine?”

 

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Risks? Is this about the arm? I have it on good authority that the arm is extremely safe, actually. No inherent risk.”

 

Natasha shook her head and smiled patiently. “No, Mr. Skank. I am referring to the throwing knives, physical stunts, and strobe lights. If you have any tendency towards seizures--”

 

“I’m sorry, what did you call me?”

 

“Mr. Stark, if you have a history of seizures, heart problems, or are otherwise at risk of being under distress at the sight of weaponry--”

 

“Holy shit,” Tony whistled low. “What, does he _kill a man_ on stage?”

 

“--then I am legally required to advise you to see a different show altogether. Do you have any hardline limits he should know about?”

 

Tony’s eyes widened. “ _What?_ ”

 

“Touching, general manhandling, and roughhousing are often parts of his routine. The audience member chosen to participate may--”

 

“Okay, yeah, I get it,” Tony shook his head. “No. No hardlines.”

 

None that Bucky wasn’t already fully aware of anyway.

 

“Good,” she nodded. “If you are chosen during the performance and at any time are uncomfortable or wish to return to your seat, simply say the word ‘Brooklyn’ to the Winter Soldier and he will usher you off the stage immediately. Is that clear?

 

“As clear as the oil smeared on the soldier’s chest,” Tony chirped happily. Then he paused. “Actually. How much time is there before the next show?”

 

Natasha scrolled through something on the pad. “About five minutes. Why?”

 

Tony nodded. “Perfect. That’s enough time for me to catch Buck--Er. The Winter Soldier before he goes on stage. How do I get a hold of him?”

 

“You don’t,” the knife slice smile was back and it gave Tony chills. “As you see from the poster, the Winter Soldier chooses you. Not the other way around.”

 

“No, no, I don’t mean--” Tony waved a hand. “No, I mean. I know him. Outside of the whole. Soldier thing. And I need to talk to him about--”

 

The good humour dropped off Natasha’s face faster than Tony could blink. “Is this going to be a problem, Mr. Stark?”

 

“What?” Tony blinked. “Oh. Shit. No, I didn’t mean that to sound stalker-y. He knows I’m here--Well. He doesn’t know, but if he’d check his damn phone, then he could verify that--”

 

Natasha frowned, and her hand raised up to press a button on an earpiece Tony hadn’t noticed before. His heart stammered in his chest.

 

“No! Wait!” he cried. “I’m sorry, I’ll just wait for the performance, okay? I won’t cause a problem. Promise.”

 

She still stared at him like she was debating between stringing him up by his shoelaces or curb stomping him and Tony tried to give his most charming smile. She sighed, and noted something on the StarkPad. Tony cringed, waiting for security to escort him away.

 

“That will be $65, Mr. Stark,” she said primly.

 

“What?” Tony squawked. “But the poster said it was only $30--”

 

“That will be $65,” Natasha repeated pointedly, that eyebrow raised again, “Mr. Stark.”

 

Tony gaped at her, but she didn’t budge. He scrambled to get his wallet out again and muttered furiously under his breath as he dropped the bills onto the flat of the StarkPad. She looked inordinately pleased with herself and Tony wasn’t sure what was worse; that he’d just been suckered into paying twice the normal cost to see his own damn neighbor, or that the guard that supposedly was there to protect the aforementioned neighbor was apparently a-okay with letting in a potential threat if they bribed her appropriately.

 

Not that he was a threat. Or that he _cared_ , really. Bucky could probably handle himself anyway.

 

“When you’re ready, take a seat in the closed off section towards the front of the stage that is outlined in purple tape,” Natasha spoke like a recording, practiced and precise. “Please remember that while our dancers may touch you, you are not allowed to touch them without explicit permission. If we discover that you have been harassing, stalking,” she paused to narrow her eyes at Tony, “or otherwise acting inappropriately towards any member of our staff, we retain the right to remove you from the premises. By force, if need be.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” Tony grumbled. “Or hostage. Whatever.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Skank,” she batted her eyelashes and smiled like she hadn’t just drained him of most of his remaining money. Bloodsucker. Her hand lifted the end of the velvet rope and she motioned for him to step inside. “The show starts in three minutes. Please take your seat. And good luck.”

 

The blackout style window coverings made a lot more sense once Tony was actually inside the building. The whole vibe of it was constructed to work around dim lighting. The walls themselves were a deep burgundy, though the steady stream of mist made precise conclusions about colour palette altogether difficult to discern. The floors were a dark, polished hardwood. Tables and booths were elevated from the main walkways and tucked off along the edges of the walls. The walkways themselves were actually lined with lights that reminded Tony of airplane aisles--like a strand of christmas lights encased in flat plastic.

 

But Tony’s eyes were immediately drawn to the ceiling of the place. Not just to avoid the alarming amount of nudity from the working dancers who spun around on poles that skewered the larger tables, but because the lighting and electrical system was clearly designed for stage-work. Every single light was clamped in place onto one of the many metal bars in an intricate grid system. Power cords followed the horizontal bars, with free-hanging outlets that had been zip-tied into place. Red, blue, and gold filters shuttered across some of the weaker lights, only noticeable when the colours danced across the surface of a particularly well formed tendril of fake mist.

 

The rest of the lights looked like repurposed spotlights, turned on low and pointed at the biggest tables, illuminating the plush red leather chairs that surrounded all sides, and making the poles  glimmer and gleam from the spot where they disappeared into the wood of the table all the way up to the anchoring point on the ceiling. Rooted StarkPads were fixed to little waist-high podiums at even intervals around the joint, offering a selection of services for patrons to choose from and a card-reader to take payment.

 

Everywhere except the doors on the far end. Four more bouncers stood, one on each side of the two doors, and checked IDs as two lines of patrons filed in. The words ‘Performance Hall’ glowed above the doors in loopy cursive lettering. So Tony took his place in the shortest line, and fiddled anxiously with the phone in his pocket.

 

There was still no response from Bucky. As hilarious as the whole Winter Soldier thing was bound to be, Tony admittedly felt a teensy bit bad about tracking down Bucky’s workplace. They’d never talked about it, per se, but it still just seemed sort of rude. But if urgently needing assistance in violating several international laws didn’t qualify as an emergency, Tony wasn’t really sure what did.

 

“Can I see some ID?”

 

He’d gotten the mean looking bouncer. Great.

 

Tony fumbled with his wallet, shoving the card at the man. He looked like the kind of guy that thought his greased back hair and neck-beard stubble made him look edgy. The same sort of dude that could hold entire conversations while shaking a protein drink. Well, ‘conversation’ was optimistic. He probably communicated mostly through a series of grunts and distressingly outdated alpha-male displays.

 

His eyebrows shot up as soon as he looked at Tony’s ID, so he must have had at least two brain cells to rub together. Maybe even three.

 

He glanced up at Tony. “Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony smiled brightly. “That’s me.”

 

“Tony Stark?”

 

Tony nodded. The lights in the stage room behind the bouncer were beginning to dim and Tony could hear a man’s voice speaking over the loudspeaker system. Something about keeping hands to yourself.

 

“The Tony Stark?” The man asked again.

 

Tony glanced down at the guy’s nametag. Brock. Yeah, that seemed fitting.

 

“Listen, Brock? I’m delighted that you have a passion for technology. Or business. Or weapons. Whatever. But I’ve paid a lot of money and it is of the utmost importance--”

 

“Of course, Mr. Stark,” Brock interrupted smoothly. His grin brought all the sleaziness to the Red Room as sticky floors would have. “It says here that you paid extra for the chance to be chosen from the audience?”

 

“That’s correct,” Tony snapped irritably. The announcements were still going, thankfully.

 

Brock fiddled with something on his tool belt and pulled out a bright pink wrist-band. “Sit in the very front section that’s--”

 

“Outlined in purple tape, yes,” Tony made a ‘hurry up motion’ before sticking out his wrist. “I _know_.”

 

The man’s meaty hands took way too long to press the adhesive down and Tony had to repress a shudder. The whole gesture felt threatening, despite the pressure on his wrist being gentle. So Tony ignored the whole process, eyes locked on the still dark stage.

 

“You’re good to go, Mr. Stark--”

 

“Great, thanks.” Tony all but ducked underneath his arm.

 

“Mr. Stark!” Brock called and Tony whirled around on his feet.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“If the show isn’t satisfying enough, we have begun offering a more, ah, personal service,” Brock said in a sickly sweet way that reminded Tony of the larger Stark Industries shareholders. As if the horrifying message itself wasn’t clear enough, the man waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “It’s pricier, but surely a man of your stature wouldn’t be too hindered.”

 

Tony balked, at an honest to god loss for words for once. The announcer’s voice tapered off and the already seated audience’s clapping tore him away from what he was fairly sure was a blatant offer of prostitution. Tony’s stomach sank to the floor and then plummeted a good mile or so further. Did that mean that Bucky had been--?

 

The lights dimmed all the way down and Tony snapped out of it long enough to scramble to the section lined in purple. Only three other patrons had paid for the privilege of being sexily threatened by his neighbor, and each greeted him jovially, with a slight nod that somehow managed to project ‘haha, _nice_.’ Tony tried to force his grimace into a passable smile.

 

He fell into his seat just milliseconds before the first low notes of an electric bass vibrate the floorboards and hush the small crowd into deathly still silence. A pin-drop between the slow notes would’ve been deafening.

 

More mist curled and unfurled from somewhere towards the back of the empty stage and wrapped around the three equidistant glistening metal poles. The sound of boots hitting the floor in time to military step echoed out, softly at first and then loud enough that the impact shook the floor just as much as the bassline. A hissing snare and bass drum boomed to life and brought the first flash of green-yellow light to the stage.

 

Two men rolled out from each side of the stage, bouncing up to their feet and taking their places behind the left and right poles. They stilled, hands wrapped around the metal, and chins tucked down onto their chests so that their faces stayed hidden. Tony managed to catch only the briefest of details from the pseudo-military style cargo pants they wore, but the boots were the exact same five inch heels that he’d had on during his daring rescue of Tony and Peter the night before. The same ones he was pretty sure Bucky wore everywhere he could get away with. He wondered if the Winter Soldier performance had come before the boots, or vis versa. A real chicken-or-egg scenario.

 

And just like that it hit him that this was real, and that he was actually about to watch Bucky perform. Professionally perform--not just show off in his living room to test out the arm.

 

A grin spread slowly on Tony’s face, widening when the lights flared up again to usher in two more back-up dancers. The men took their places, freezing still in a dramatic tableau. The electric guitar seared through the baseline and ran jagged across the top of the drums, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. The volume only rose with the last two of the backup dancers, thrumming and blasting so loud that Tony had to cover his ears towards the end of it.

 

And then it stopped. All the sound dropped with no warning and stayed that way for a good couple beats before the melody came back in slow.

 

With it, the lights lifted and the three silhouettes appeared from the back of the stage, still shrouded in mist. Two standing figures on either side of a kneeling one. The two standing each had one arm holding the one of the shoulders of the man on his knees. The mist cleared a little and the detail of long dark hair clarified any remaining ambiguity. The man on his knees was Bucky. He wore the same tight leather pants with fake tactical gear strapped to his thighs, calves and around the tops of his boots. The leather jacket he wore on top took an even more liberal interpretation of military garb--at least the parts of it that were still in tact. The left arm of the jacket had been ripped off completely, leaving the metal arm out. The blue tinged light made the shine on his arm viciously bright and made him stand out even without moving.

 

His face was obscured by something that looked like a muzzle and his head lolled as the men beside him tugged him to his feet. One thrusted the water-gun rifle into his hands and Tony suppressed a grin when he recognized it. Bucky gripped it loosely with his good arm, seeming groggy as the remaining man unsheathed and started twirling a throwing knife, the red ribbon tied to the end of it standing out sharply against the blue.

 

Suddenly, he tossed the knife up into the air and Tony’s eyebrows nearly rose up to his hairline before Bucky snapped awake in time to catch it by the hilt. The sharp clank it made against his metal hand drew a round of cheers from the crowd and Tony barely restrained himself from turning around and informing the good patrons of the Red Room that the arm was in fact his design. He figured he’d let Bucky have his moment in the spotlight or whatever.

 

The music blared to life again as the ensemble dancers began to march in place. Bucky swung the rifle across his shoulder so that the strap sat diagonally across his chest, catching the open leather jacket and hugging it to his figure so that the light caught and defined his bare chest for the audience. He and the other soldiers dropped to the ground in a lunge. Bucky sheathed the knife in the hilt strapped to his thigh, slowly sliding the blade into place.

 

The Red Room stage crew must’ve put a strip of flint on the floor, because literal sparks flew from Bucky’s fingers as he drew the metal hand across the floor. Tony winced at the sight of it, and made a mental note to check the fingertips for wear and tear later. Also guess that meant he’d be receiving a resounding ‘no’ if he offered to attach rubber grips to Bucky’s fingers. It was probably for the best, anyway. Grips would ruin the mechanical aesthetic.

 

Bucky and the other soldiers mimicked an army crawl, back bent in an exaggerated curve that encouraged the audience’s attention to their more pronounced assets. Leather clad ones, in Bucky’s case. Tony’s grin was wide and wicked as Bucky drew his hand across the floor again. The orange glow from the sparks cut sharply through the dim blue and lit up his features like a promise. The mask, Tony felt, was really a shame. The sharply contrasting light would’ve looked incredible playing across Bucky’s lips. Tony wasn’t sure when he’d leaned forward in his seat, but he desperately wished he’d brought something to fiddle with.

 

The Winter Soldier and his team bent themselves over backwards in an approximation of a bridge, slowly walking hands and feet together until they were fit to snap in half. Then, like it was nothing, let their heavy combat boots off the ground and brought them up in a slow arc until they pushed off the ground and back onto their feet in the world’s slowest moving back-hand flip. Bucky’s hair whipped over his shoulders and across his face as he and the soldiers armed themselves with their guns. They spun through a series of complicated twists and tosses, occasionally stopping to shoot water directly into the air above so that it rained back down onto them and the stage, catching the low light in intense shining spots as it fell.

 

The overly intense sparkle of it on the mens’ skin gave it away as the source of all the damn glitter he’d been trying to clean out of his lab for five goddamn years and Tony suddenly felt infinitely less fond of the water-gun.

 

Unaware and uncaring about Tony’s decision to rid him of his weapon of choice later on, Bucky continued to lead the performance. And Tony had to hand it to him--the men moved in _perfect_ synchronization. Each gesture was timed down to the millisecond and the soundtrack adding fake gunshots or the sounds of explosions only served to prove that this was a performance they’d done over one thousand times. The way they bent, paused, or slowly adjusted from one position to another was identical across all the dancers down to the angle. It was like someone had taken a measuring tape to each of them and insisted on no margin of error. There was no hesitation, no second guessing; just fluid movement as they spun their toy guns with brilliantly timed pushes of hips and thighs.

 

It started subtle. The two men that had held Bucky down during the beginning of the performance returned to the stage, lingering in the back. Their outlines were dark, but each held something with a big red light in the center. The twin lights flashed once and Bucky stumbled. For a moment, Tony was worried that he’d actually messed up a move, but the recovery was smooth enough to leave him unsure of what he saw to begin with.

 

Then again the lights flashed and this time the stumble was bigger, more exaggerated. As the flashing continued, Bucky fell further and further out of time. The ensemble stepped left and he stepped right, colliding into the chest of one of the other soldiers. The soldier feigned irritation and shoved at Bucky’s chest. The lights flashed again and Bucky yanked the soldier close. He spun the man around so that his back was to Bucky’s chest and the Winter Soldier stared out blankly at the audience, waiting for the next flash of light. When it came, he mimed snapping the soldier’s neck, catching him in a dip as the dead soldier’s back arched limply in his grasp. The light flashed again and he dropped the man to the ground.

 

Tony’s brain smugly reminded him of his early morning thoughts re: Bucky crushing anything with the metal arm, and alright, maybe Tony could see the appeal of the whole murder vibe. A little.  

 

Each time the men in the back flashed their lights, the Winter Soldier lashed out at another one of the soldiers in his ensemble. He caught them in his embrace, then brought them down with the slowest and gentlest of attacks, each going as quiet as the last until the Winter Soldier was on stage alone with his guards. The music died down slowly, the guitar still scratching an echoing melody into the air like it refused to disappear. But the soldier’s movements had come to a halt. He dropped to his knees, back arching and his head tipped forward so that his hair shadowed his face from the harsh lighting.

 

His handlers approached from behind him, crossing the stage in mirrored movements. They halted, and Tony actually took in the masks they wore. They wore surgeons masks that seemed loose fitting and casual in comparison to the piece that covered the lower half of the Winter Soldier’s face and was held in place with buckles and straps. They spun the remotes in their hands, pressing down on the red buttons in the center with exaggerated movements.

 

The soldier jerked to life, back straightening painfully quick, and raised himself up higher on his knees as if pulled by invisible wire. He lifted his head slowly, somehow looking wanton even with the mask obscuring his face. His face tipped to one side, staring at one of the men while the other used his free hand to grab hold of the soldier’s hair in a tight fist. The soldier cried out in an exaggerated moan that got muffled by the mask.

 

The other handler drew a finger slowly across the soldier’s exposed collarbone, tugging open the jacket and yanking it off of him violently. The soldier twisted and writhed, practically contorting himself so that he could chase after each touch, with his arms still held behind him painfully rigid. Tony told himself that clench he felt in his gut was from concern about the prosthetic arm.

 

All his earlier viciousness melted away under the touch of the men to jerked him around like a puppet. The Winter Soldier stayed pliant, allowing himself to be stripped of his gun, his jacket, and eventually, the mask. His lips were parted just slightly, and gleamed under the light. He stared at the man with the fist in his hair, eyes wide and pleading. Another hand pressed down his bare torso, teasing across his abdomen and drawing out another obscene moan that Tony smugly recognized as fake. It was only when the handler with the roaming touch’s fingers brushed against the hilt of the knife at his thigh that the soldier’s expression started to show panic. It was only when the knife slid out of its holster that he began to thrash.

 

The men’s movements were impossibly rhythmic, carefully timed to the low music, as the handlers each planted a single boot on the soldier’s back and shoved him off balance. The soldier righted himself quickly, and froze. The knife’s sharp edge glinted under the soft lighting, and tucked under his chin. It was pressed oh-so-gently against his skin and the soldier remained so still that only the rise and fall of his chest indicating that he was alive. Tony’s knee was bouncing nervously again and his jaw hurt. He ran a hand over the edges of it, surprised when the tension he found suggested that he had been gritting his teeth.

 

In his defense, the knife itself was familiar. Tony remembered seeing Bucky practice with the knife before the accident. A whole box full of knives actually. He’d set up a block of cork board about a foot thick and three feet wide on one of his walls, and would often demonstrate his impatience with Tony by unabashedly practicing his aim. The first time he’d done it, Tony had nearly jumped out of his damn skin. He’d barely managed to keep a calm, even tone as Hammer had informed him of the newest shipment he’d be responsible for selling. Which, of course, Bucky had found hilarious. Since then, Bucky went out of his way to spin the knives, practice trick shots, or otherwise find ways to give Tony minor heart attacks whenever their amorous activities were interrupted.

 

The point being that Tony, unlike the rest of Bucky’s current spectators, was well aware that those blades weren’t just for show. The few times he had seen Bucky fumble a trick had resulted in some seriously nasty cuts. And the way the metal was pressed against his skin, enough to dent, made him nervous. He knew it was a show. Rationally, he knew that. But the handler that wasn’t wielding the knife pressed his thumb between Bucky’s lips and the obscene moan the soldier let out wasn’t quite enough to convince him the threat wasn’t real.

 

And the threat was real. Even if it was choreographed. Stuff went wrong all the time. It was perfectly reasonable to worry. Knives being held to throats were more than adequate justifications for worry.

 

Tony adjusted his weight in his chair and focused on not tapping his foot to soothe his nerves. One of the other patrons seated with him in the purple lined section nudged another, excitedly whispering something and pointing. A quick glance back told him that the whole audience was wide eyed, completely taken in by the performance and seemed to be holding their breath collectively.

 

Apparently no one else was even phased at the sight of a man with a blade at his throat. So long as the soldier kept up the porn-y moans, the audience was just fine with the whole _accidental decapitation_ risk. Tony’s brows furrowed and he tried to swallow down the anxious flutter that kept threatening to jolt him out of his seat and between the men on the stage. He was about eighty percent sure that would be frowned upon. Even if the show did call for audience participation. Tony huffed under his breath and chewed on his lip instead.

 

The movements of the handlers echoed in small responding twists and presses from Bucky’s abdomen and hips, the invisible strings tugging him along leaving his shoulders and head still under the threat of the knife.

 

It was the control they had over him that rubbed him so wrong, Tony realized. Everything from the two standing men contrasting Bucky who was on his knees, to the soldier’s state of undress compared to their neatly buttoned up labcoats reeked of control in a way that the knife to Bucky’s throat just brought to a (metaphorical and literal) point. That was why seeing the soldier tear through his comrades hadn’t felt as slimy, he reasoned. It was because Bucky himself was possibly the most bull-headed and fiercely independent person Tony had ever had the displeasure of helping. Even on nights when he had wanted Tony to take the lead, Bucky had never been so vacant, or so easily moulded. There was the threat of a bite to everything Bucky did-- _everything_. The scared, vulnerable Bucky he’d woken up with had still left bruises the shape of metal fingertips across his back and the pain had gone with the temptation of sleep soft lips like milk and honey. Sweet, and just a touch wild.

 

But here in the Red Room, watching the same man bend helplessly to the whims of his handlers with exaggerated vulnerability felt like a mockery of the real thing. And somehow, it felt just as invasive to watch. Something in Tony’s gut fiercely wanted the rest of Bucky’s audience to understand this. Wanted them to understand that they were seeing a twisted shadow that barely resembled the unbreakable spirit that came with Bucky Barnes. He just as viciously wanted them to never know enough to recognize the difference because it would’ve been wasted on them.

 

Instead, he took deep breaths and tried to remind himself that it was an act. A choreographed act. The man on stage was the Winter Soldier--not Bucky. Tony’s brain had never been a fan of cooperation though and he was hardly surprised when the memory of the doorman’s offer pushed back to the surface of his thoughts and he had to swallow down the taste of bile.

 

Tony’s heart leapt into his throat when one of the men reached back, giving only a moment’s notice, before bringing the back of his hand down hard across the soldier’s cheek in time with the music’s final crescendo. The knife was jerked away just in time, letting the soldier fall forward onto his hands. His chest bowed down towards the floor of the stage and the sharp edges of his shoulder blades shuddered and rocked as he caught his breath. Tony watched wide-eyed as the red ribbon spun in slow lazy arcs as the handler twirled it and had to grip the edges of his chair to stay seated when the knife was thrown. It stuck out of the ground a foot or so in front of Bucky’s metal hand.

 

Tony let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and only just caught the handler’s words before the music stopped altogether.

 

“You have your orders, Soldier.”

 

The patrons around him erupted into applause as the lights went out so suddenly that Tony had spots dancing in front of his eyes. The loud wolf whistles and cheers mixed in with lewd suggestions (some of which Tony was fairly sure constituted actual criminal harassment) broke the spell of tension created by the Winter Soldier and his handlers. Just like that, the tension he had held in his gut bled away and left him unsure if he’d been overreacting or caught up in the moment.

 

At the very least, Tony had to admit that he’d been entertained. Y’know, in a probably-causing-nightmares-for-at-least-a-month kind of way, but that probably still counted. Judging by the ruckus the relatively small audience was still causing, he had not been the only one. The blackout probably wasn’t meant to last this long, but the cheers were still going and a small grin fought its way onto his lips as the announcer fought to be heard through it all.

 

He barely caught the warning, that the audience participation section was starting, before the first seven notes of _Seven Nation Army_ cut through the noise and drew the crowd sharply into the eager kind of silence that thrummed through the air as loud as the cheering had been. Spotlight beams audibly clicked on simultaneous to the first note, illuminating six poles surrounding the edges of the main audience. Each was occupied by one the fallen soldiers from the first act, now caught in a silent tableau.

 

Tony’s heart fluttered in his chest and he couldn’t put a pin in why until two more spotlights clicked on; one on the pole at the front and center of the stage, and one on the Winter Soldier that was still on all fours. The golden glow draped over his skin like a blanket, curving around the shape of his muscles and tracing the lines of his metal arm. The metal plates lifted and rearranged themselves as he began to crawl forward, head raising slowly so that he could stare out into the audience.

 

Or rather, so that he could stare directly at _Tony_.

 

It was then that Tony remembered exactly why he was in the Red Room to begin with and tried valiantly to convince himself that this was still a good idea as the snarl that passed over Bucky’s face (most _definitely_ directed at Tony) received a round of hoots and hollers. Tony swallowed thickly and hid his nerves behind a broad grin. He lifted his hand to waggle his fingers cheerfully at his neighbor, winking dramatically.

 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, never leaving Tony, as his metal fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger that was still stuck in the floor and yanked it free. The knife with the very _real_ blade. The knife that Tony had watched Bucky throw over his shoulder casually and still hit his target dead center on _more than one occasion_. The one that was currently being twirled and danced across a gleaming metal palm (Tony tried not to think about how that might scratch the plating--this was not the time. Probably. But _still_.), red ribbon whipping out behind it. The knife that was presumably going to be aimed at his person pretty soon, if the slightly-too-genuine fury in Bucky’s face was at all predictive.

 

The knife hit the floor in front of Tony’s feet with a familiar _thunk_. Gauging by the general audience’s total lack of horrified screams and the couple looks of envy he received, he assumed this was how the Winter Soldier chose his participant. Tony bit his lower lip, trying (and failing) hold back a giggle that was equal parts excitement and fear. Yeah, this was going to go _great_.

 

Bucky’s hand wrapped around the pole in front of him and he rolled his spine upwards until he was on the tips of his toes. He pinned Tony in place as he moved, one leg curling around the pole as his metal hand flattened against his chest, the rings and plates shifting and spinning with a soft _whirr_ as he dragged his hand down, down, down. Those clever fingers undid the button of his pants in a snapping move Tony had had the pleasure of seeing up close and personal before he pulled himself off the stage completely and spun in slow lazy circles around the pole.

 

His eyes fell closed and his head tipped back, the fury leaving his features like it had never belonged. He looked soft under the glow of the spotlight even as the harshest strings of light traced the scars all over his torso like cracks in a ceramic vase that had been painstakingly put back together. His lips parted around an exaggerated sigh as his mechanical palm pressed flat against his inner thigh and he rolled his hips up into the touch even as he lifted his hand away. And for just a brief, exceedingly distracting moment, Tony thought that hey, maybe Bucky wasn’t mad at him for tracking him down and--

 

Bucky used the momentum of the spin and flung himself forward off the stage, somehow landing completely silently. His eyes were open again and oh, _yeah_ , he was _definitely_ mad.

 

Tony’s grin widened despite himself as the man in question strutted forward, wrath barely concealed as lust, until he was straddling Tony’s lap. Tony’s hands came up to grip at the back of his thighs out of pure habit, remembering only when metal fingers batted his hands away that they had an audience. He dug into the armrests instead, willing himself to remember that he’d come to the Red Room for a reason as Bucky did that _thing_ with his hips that he knew drove Tony wild.

 

Fingers carded gently through his hair and Tony’s eyes had nearly fluttered shut when they tightened, yanking back a lot harder than was necessary. He hissed, glaring at the man in his lap, and tried to wriggle free. Bucky peered down at him, examining him like a sub-par cut of meat, lip curled up in disgust. He shifted his weight on Tony’s lap, grinding and pressing up against him with not nearly enough friction. He twisted under his arm, spinning in place until his back was to Tony’s chest before he finally let go of the engineer’s hair.

 

Those hands, one warm, one achingly cold, found Tony’s and guided them together down Bucky’s bare sides until they came to a rest on his hips. He dipped forward, letting the lights catch along the planes of his back and then curved back until all that bare skin was so torturously close and Tony wanted to lean forward and bite. Bucky’s head tipped back again, metal hand reaching back to hold Tony against him. But even the heat of the red and gold lighting didn’t warm the ice in his glare.

 

“Hi there, Soldier,” Tony teased, tilting his head so that his breath ghosted around Bucky’s ear. He kept his voice low and smooth, tucked neatly beneath the rough vocals of the song. “Come here often?”

 

Bucky twisted sharply in his lap and knocked the breath out of his lungs in a not-so-sexy push. “Why are you here, Stark?”

 

And really, leave it to Bucky to sound like he was going to skin someone alive while his hips swayed and rolled under Tony’s fingers, the motion practically begging Tony to slide his touch just a little bit forward to where it might count for something. So of course Tony stayed right where he was and squeezed lightly.

 

“What? Can’t a guy pay stupid amounts of money to have his neighbor dance threateningly at him?” Tony batted his eyelashes. He was going for innocent, but between Bucky spinning around in his grasp and rocking one thick thigh between Tony’s, it came out a little more needy than he’d wanted. He bit back a sigh as Bucky’s nails clawed up his abdomen, rucking up his shirt and tugging Tony forward even as he leaned back. Tony feigned disappointment that had no chance of overshadowing his grin and added, “What is this world coming to?”

 

The tiny smirk that twitched at the corner of Bucky’s lips was probably more threatening than the knife had been. The dancer leaned forward to grind against Tony’s leg, nose tracing a line from Tony’s sternum to his ear.

 

“Yours is coming to a bloody end if you don’t spit it out,” Bucky growled.

 

Tony thought that it probably said something alarming about his character that Bucky’s words sent his blood rushing downwards faster than the dancing did but he decided that he would take the time to analyze that approximately _never_. Instead he shifted his grip on the other man’s hips until he could keep him relatively in place. Then he rolled his own hips upward, sliding his thigh along the hard length he could feel even through the tight leather pants and feeling self-satisfied when the moan the soldier let out was decidedly more real than anything prior.

 

“Way to make a guy feel welcome,” Tony bit down on his lip to quell another chuckle. Bucky glared down at him, but his hips pressed up against the circles Tony drew with his thumbs and it spoke more of familiarity than a brewing fight.

 

And maybe, just maybe, Tony forgot what he’d come for in favour of giving as good as he got.

 

He raked his fingers over bare skin until Bucky’s eyes glazed over, then let his hands drop lower until he could sink his fingertips into the meat of Bucky’s ass and pull him forward roughly. Cold blue eyes and parted lips widened in surprise, the corresponding gasp lost under the sounds of the bassline. Tony let up on his grip.

 

“I’m not distracting you, am I?” he grinned, relishing the growl he got in response.

 

Bucky’s metal hand snapped forward and snagged a bunch of Tony’s shirt in his fist. He only had a couple seconds before Bucky had stepped away from his lap entirely. He let out a whimper that he’d probably deny until his dying breath but Bucky didn’t seem to have any new fondness for mercy, so he quickly found himself being yanked to his feet by the front of his shirt and spun around to face the audience he’d forgotten about.

 

He glanced down and saw the toe of Bucky’s combat boot just between his own feet for just a split second before his legs were kicked open wide. Tony yelped, hands coming forward to catch himself but Bucky was faster. He had his fingers fisted in Tony’s hair before the man could fall away from his grasp and pulled backwards hard enough to curve Tony’s back into a bow. The metal hand resting on his hip pulled him in closer. The engineer was only hazily aware that the whole set up probably broke more than enough house rules to get him kicked out. But his focus was trapped somewhere between self consciousness as the audience eyed him just as hungrily as they had the dancers, and the want coursing through every fiber of his body.

 

Bucky pressed his hips sharply against Tony’s ass, mimicking a thrust that was painted all too vividly in Tony’s memory, and Tony nearly forgot to breathe. The grip in his hair let Bucky move him like a ragdoll, swaying him away from the man’s chest and then close enough to feel ragged breath warm on his shoulder.

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Bucky muttered directly into his ear and Tony shivered. “I’m a professional.”

 

“And so humble, too!” Tony retorted, trying find some balance between focusing on the audience’s gaze and Bucky’s ministration.

 

He had hoped that the attention might lessen the fuzz threatening to take over his brain lest he lose the remaining self control that prevented him from turning their dance into something openly pornographic. But judging by the electric buzz of excitement that took up residence under his skin, humming in time to the music, Bucky had somehow managed to learn something new about Tony before the engineer had known it himself. _Again_.

 

As if that wasn’t frustrating enough, his neighbor still seemed to be completely in control. The want was there, sure, but his movements were sure and steady. He bent and twisted Tony like a play-thing, like he’d done it a million times before. Tony scowled, willing himself to get it together. He wasn’t going to just let Bucky win like that. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure what ‘winning’ in this context meant. Maybe being tossed over the edge of one of those folded up seats and fucked senseless and--

 

 _No_. Nope. Tony shook his head, trying to clear it. He was easy but he wasn’t _that_ easy.

 

He spun in Bucky’s grasp, grin feeling wicked as he watched Bucky try to keep the surprise of his face. With a quick wink, Tony curled his fingers through the front belt loops of the unbuttoned leather skinnies and held Bucky’s gaze steady with his own before he dropped to his knees. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and stared up at the man through his lashes, delighted to see that damn poker face shatter in favour of shock.

 

 _Ten points to Slytherin_ , he thought smugly.

 

Bucky recovered quickly, to his credit, and had his metal hand resting on top of Tony’s head within seconds. He thrust his hips forward teasingly, his grip keeping Tony’s lips away from where they wanted to be. A sly smile escaped from the soldier’s facade as Tony’s hands traced down the front of Bucky’s thighs. Bucky reached out and grabbed both of Tony’s hands in his own, yanking him to his feet again. He crossed one arm over Tony’s head then tugged tight until Tony was staring down the audience again with his back was pressed to Bucky’s chest.

 

His arms were crossed over his own torso, wrists locked in Bucky’s grip to keep him still but the something hard that poked against his flank gave away more than Bucky’s face had and Tony snickered. He ground up against the pressure as hard as he could, dropping his head back onto Bucky’s shoulder to let out his best mimicry of the soldier’s obscene moans.

 

“Give it up, Tony” Bucky growled into the crook of his neck and boy was Tony tempted to do just that. “It’s not going to work. I’ve done this a thousand times and--”

 

“Wanna bet?” The words tumbled out of Tony’s mouth before he could think better of it.

 

Bucky rocked them both forward and backward, curving around Tony just briefly enough to shoot him a confused look. “What?”

 

“Said, ‘wanna bet?’” Tony gasped the words out as Bucky’s hands around his turned into one metal hand around both wrists and god, that was criminal. He struggled to focus. “C’mon. Bet on it, soldier boy. If I can throw you off your routine, I get… $65.”

 

Sure maybe his plan wasn’t really a plan so much as a fortunate coincidence that would help him recover from the bouncer at the door and--jesus fucking christ, that was distracting--but he was pretty sure he could pull it off. Bucky’s silence spoke volumes and Tony knew long before the man responded that he’d won. Bucky Barnes couldn’t resist a challenge.

 

“And if I win?” Bucky said, that low voice curious and demanding.

 

Tony arched against him, meeting the rhythmic thrusts with his own weight and tilting his chin up to expose as much of the skin on his neck as he could. Bucky bit down on it like the bait it was and Tony hissed, “Whatever you want, soldier.”

 

“Deal,” Bucky’s voice rumbled through him and Tony felt his heart jump in his chest. Smugness laced the man’s voice as he continued, “But there’s only one minute left in the song. Better hurry up.”

 

Tony pulled his wrists out of Bucky’s hold with enough insistence that the man let him go, and turned so that he could press his palms to either side of Bucky’s neck. He dragged up over the skin, wound his fingers through long brown hair and tugged just enough to close Bucky’s eyes again. He cradled the man’s jaw gently, one thumb brushing over the swell of his pouted lower lip, pulling it down slightly.

 

“Bucky Barnes,” Tony hummed quietly, enjoying the way those lips wrapped around his thumb and sucked, “bane of my existence and light of my life--”

 

“You gunna sweet talk me to death?” Bucky challenged, nipping at the edge of Tony’s thumb as he guided them back towards Tony’s seat.

 

The music was climbing up to its climax and Tony felt dizzy as two hands on his hips shoved him hard. The chair came up to meet him quicker than his heart had leapt into his throat and Bucky followed after with the same predatory look he got when he was about to win something.

 

Tony couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face and waited until Bucky was comfortably seated on his lap again before he went for the kill.

 

“Bucky Barnes, will you marry me?” he intoned as sweetly as he could.

 

Bucky froze, eyes wide, jaw dropped. And reality came crashing back around them, sounding like drums, bass solos and gritty vocals. There was all too much light and nowhere to hide as the audience around them cheered and wolf-whistled; completely unaware of the serious turn the lap dance had taken. Tony swallowed thickly.

 

“Hah, I win,” Tony croaked, forcing a smile across his face.

 

Something in his chest hurt viciously as Bucky’s mouth still tried to form around words that wouldn’t come.

 

It wasn’t like he’d expected an enthusiastic yes. It wasn’t even a real marriage. They’d get divorced as soon as the job was done and he’d only asked because the Peter had maybe been onto something about the press being a useful shield. The washed up child prodigy suddenly reappearing to get gay married and adopt a son was more than enough to get a solid buzz going. It was just a job.

 

Tony cleared his throat, hands moving back to Bucky’s hips to kinda encourage him back into action so that the audience didn’t pick up on anything.

 

“Well, that’s not a _yes_ , but--”

 

Bucky jolted back to life, moving against him mechanically. His eyes narrowed on Tony’s and he leaned close to interrupt with, “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

 

“Jury’s out on that,” Tony returned quickly. “I need to cross the border while committing some light crime, and Anthony Stark reappearing in the public eye to get gay married and have a son is one hell of a distraction--”

 

“We have a son?” Bucky blurted.

 

“Unfortunately. Peter’s already introduced himself to the reporters,” Tony deadpanned. His heart was skipping every other beat and he forced himself not to focus on the way Bucky had said ‘we.’ The song was coming to a close, so he spoke fast. “So, what do you say? Marry me? I’ll give you a cut of the profit. $60k. That’s enough to pay off your student loans, right? Enough to go to law school full time--?”

 

Bucky cut him off with a snarling kiss, catching Tony’s lips in a crash of teeth and tongue that stole the words directly from his throat. Tony’s knees felt weak and he belatedly thanked Bucky mentally for getting him back into his seat. The cheers and hollers from the audience grew louder and louder as the song roused in big, floor rumbling finish.

 

But Tony barely heard it. He felt Bucky’s hands on his face and the weight of him on his lap. He tasted soft lips and could smell the sweat glistening on the skin beneath his fingertips. Strands of long hair tickled against his cheeks, a gentle contrast to Bucky’s apparent determination to consume him in front of God and everyone. And Tony couldn’t have mustered up the energy to stop him even if he’d wanted to.

 

When Bucky pulled away, Tony barely opened his eyes quickly enough to actually see the man speaking. But thankfully he did, otherwise he might have dismissed it as coming from his over-active and over-eager imagination.

 

“Meet me backstage,” Bucky hissed urgently. “Tell Nat that Yasha asked to see you.”

 

“Wait, who’s--?” Tony stammered, but Bucky lifted off his lap.

 

He took a few steps back, jumping back up onto the stage and treated the audience to a dazzling grin before bowing low. He gestured to the ensemble of soldiers that followed him onto the platform and they bowed too. The two handlers jogged out on stage to take their moment too and Tony realized that one of them--the one that had slapped Bucky--was Brock. The same guy who had more or less offered to sell Bucky to Tony. The man locked eyes with Tony as he and the other labcoat bowed and Tony wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a threat or a suggestion. But the chills down his spine tore away any of the remaining pleasant tingling feeling Bucky had left, washed clean by the audience’s impossibly loud cheers and whistles.

 

The cast took one last bow together before the lights went out on them for a final time. They disappeared behind the curtains and the house lights returned. A few of the patrons closest to Tony jostled him and elbowed him, grinning like he was an old pal. Lots of “lucky bastard”’s murmured in his direction that Tony couldn’t say he really agreed with.

 

Tony moved like he was in a dream, ducking the shoulder pats and general camaraderie like a professional. His vision zeroed in on the woman with the blood red hair, standing in front of a nondescript door just off to the side, behind the line the rest of the staff made to try and get the audience to shuffle out in an orderly manner. Tony ducked under the arm of one of the staff members and jogged over to her.

 

Immediately her eyes narrowed on him and her stance shifted like she expected a fight. Her fingers curled into fists as her side and Tony did his best to stay very, _very_ still.

 

“Tony, right?” Nat asked, stepping into his space.

 

He swallowed, smiling weakly. “Yep, that’s me. Good memory. I, uh. Uhm. ...Yasha asked to see me?”

 

To his surprise, Nat snorted. Her full red lips curled into a cruel grin and she lifted one eyebrow. “Yeah, I bet he did. Haven’t seen him dance like that ever.”

 

Ah. Yasha was Bucky. Tony nodded, movements jerky, and waited. She still stayed planted in front of the door, watching him like one would watch a cobra rearing up to strike.

 

“If you hurt him…” she snarled, letting the words hang in the air, the threat implied.

 

Tony felt his eyes go wide. “Oh. Uh. No, I don’t think that’s going to be a concern. Don’t think he likes me enough to give a shit, frankly. It’s uh. _Complicated_. Well, we hate-fuck. I guess it’s not that complicated. But still, I don’t think the shovel talk is really the way to go here--”

 

“If you hurt him,” Nat repeated, stepping closer still. Her finger jabbed Tony right in the center of his chest and he wheezed. “I will kill you. Understood, Tony?”

 

“Understood,” he coughed. “Crystal clear. I appreciate the memo. Thanks for the clarification.”

 

“Go,” she snapped, standing aside and gesturing to the door.

 

Tony scrambled past her and didn’t bother to question the way seeing Bucky watching him with concern eased his frazzled nerves. Nat was terrifying. Instead, he just slapped on another smile and braced himself to explain everything to the glitter covered man in front of him that wore his prosthetic arm.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Bucky grumbled.

 

Even without the whole topless-with-leather-pants thing, he would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb, but the lights in the city hall building were that awful kind of fluorescent that caught everything unflattering and put it on display. Which of course meant that Bucky’s skin shone with the sweat and grime that he hadn’t had the chance to shower off after his performance. Along with the red and gold glitter.

 

It was kind of remarkable though, because Tony was pretty sure that he looked halfway respectable just by standing next to Bucky for easy comparison. And Tony was pretty sure he looked like shit.

 

The clerk that was off getting their papers printed had certainly been kind enough not to comment on either of them.

 

“Well, the courthouse closes in forty-five minutes, and I guarantee that the press is already digging for a license after Peter’s stunt earlier--”

 

“No, not showing up to the courthouse tonight,” Bucky snorted. “That part seems fitting. I mean the whole…”

 

He trailed off, scowling at the floor.

 

“What, are international war crimes not how you usually spend your weekend?” Tony asked dryly. “Besides, you don’t have to do this. I can always say my husband died in a tragic stripping accident.”

 

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “I’m not letting you do this alone. It’s dangerous, Tony.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Tony groused. “I’d rather not be doing it either, believe me.”

 

“Plus the $70k doesn’t hurt,” Bucky said mildly.

 

“$70k?” Tony blinked at him. “I said $60k. Where did you get $70k?”

 

Bucky shot him a confident grin. “You sayin’ I ain’t worth it, dear?”

 

Tony spluttered, words caught and useless as the form was slapped down on the counter in front of them. The clerk looked between them, unimpressed, before reading out the mandatory clauses. Bucky’s grin just got more and more smug as Tony realized he couldn’t really back out of the deal now--not with an official witness watching and everything.

 

“By the power vested in me through the state of Massachusetts,” the clerk paused, waggling a pen out in front of their faces.

 

Bucky took the hint and grabbed it, scrawling his signature on the indicated dotted line before passing the pen to Tony. Tony yanked it away from his grasp, muttering darkly about needing better friends before signing his own name. His lettering was sharp and blocky compared to Bucky’s lilting scrawl, but the signatures matched in their own weird way. Complimented each other. Tony frowned at them.

 

“...I now pronounce you married,” the clerk finished, sounding bored. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mr. Stark.”

 

Tony’s attention was drawn away from the paper by the crook of a metal finger under his chin, tugging him over to meet Bucky’s lips with his own. It was a quick kiss, chaste and formal, utterly ritualistic, but the glimmer of mischief in Bucky’s eyes was genuine. Tony focused on his breathing and offered his new partner in crime a crooked grin.

 

As they walked away from the counter, Bucky folding and creasing their actual bonafide marriage license between metal fingers, Tony realized he had no idea what to say. ‘Thank you’ didn’t seem to cover it. Didn’t seem fitting either. Bucky wasn’t doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He got his loans paid off and got to finish law school at a full time rate--apparently with an extra $10k to spare.

 

Besides, Bucky had hit the nail on the head when they’d discussed the situation in his dressing room. Especially if Peter insisted on throwing himself into the middle of it all, Tony needed to concern himself with safety. And the more press they got, the safer they would be.

 

“Oh shit,” Tony blurted suddenly, eyes widening.

 

“What?” Bucky snapped, jumping a little in alarm. “What is it?”

 

Tony snorted.

 

Then he snickered.

 

Then he was laughing _hard_ , and he couldn’t stop.

 

Bucky was squinting down at him suspiciously and that just made it worse because Tony could still see the glitter streaked across the man’s chest from the water guns and _wow_. Howard was going to be _pissed_. And it was just so like Tony to forget, even with all his anxious preparation--

 

“ _What?_ ” Bucky shoved his shoulder a bit, starting to look genuinely pissed.

 

“I forgot to get you a _ring_ ,” Tony gasped between peals of laughter, clutching at his sides.

 

Bucky stared at him blankly, looking completely and totally bewildered. Tony stumbled over to one of the benches outside the courthouse, laying down across it and letting his chest shake with hysterical laughter.

 

“We’re about to commit some seriously dangerous crime,” Tony wheezed, “and I forgot to even get my fake husband a _ring_.”

 

Bucky snorted a little, the corners of his mouth turning up. He plopped down on the bench next to Tony and for whatever reason, didn’t protest as the engineer rested his head in the man’s lap. Instead he carded gentle fingers through Tony’s hair and waited patiently for the laughter to subside.

 

“You’re a human disaster, y’know that?” Bucky told Tony wryly.

 

“Yeah, but you _married_ me,” Tony giggled. “What does that say about you?”

 

“Probably nothing good,” Bucky conceded.

 

They held each other’s gaze for maybe three seconds before Tony’s laughter started up again. And the third time was apparently the charm, ‘cuz Bucky’s expression relaxed and he joined in too. They stayed there, laughing at the uncertainty and danger of it all, of the promise of getting out of the business, at the chance to return to normal after one huge splurge into anything but. They stayed there, Bucky’s hand in Tony’s hair and Tony’s head on Bucky’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world and really--that just made it all the more hilarious.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit that was a beast of a chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it. I was so nervous about writing those last couple scenes. The idea of a stripping proposal was literally the inspiration for this entire fic soooo. (if you were curious what the inspiration was, [here u go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hPV8CeI_rzA). NSFW warning.) Wanted to give it the gravity it deserved while still having everything be very #Tony, y'know? Couldn't have done it with Ivo, the Tony to my Bucky, coaching me through how his stupid brain works tbh. 
> 
> In other news, I've joined up with the [Imagine Tony and Bucky](imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com) blog as an author and artist, so be on the look out for submissions there from me! Don't worry, I'll still post my stuff to AO3 too. 
> 
> Also? Idk if everyone else out there is craving more content for these two or if it's just Ivo and I, but we went ahead and made a discord server to talk about Winteriron. Because _whoo boy_ do we have a lot of headcanons and ideas and we might just explode if we can't share'em all. Plus the server bot is named JARVIS so. How can you say no to that? It's an 18+ server (that way we can talk about fics rated M and up, or other adult materials without putting minors at risk), so please be mindful of that. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's the invite link!](https://discord.gg/A32YB6Y)
> 
>  
> 
> We look forward to meeting you and talking with you about these stupid awful idiots in love.


	4. Return of the Prodigal Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Actual smut this chapter. About 3k of it. Whoops. 
> 
> Recommended Listening: 
> 
> Fucked Up - Young Rising Sons  
> Troublemaker - Grizfolk  
> Train - Brick & Mortar  
> Shark Attack - Grouplove  
> Issues - Julia Michaels  
> The Fool - Ryn Weaver  
> Alienation - Morning Parade  
> Your Love Could Start a War - The Unlikely Candidates  
> Let Me Love - ARCHIS  
> Hey Now - Matt and Kim

 

 

The courthouse was a far stretch away from Tony and Bucky’s apartment building, even with the late night roads being clear of their usual traffic. Tony’s eyes drooped where he slouched in the passenger seat of his own car--Bucky had insisted on driving--and the haze of the day’s exhaustion painted faint halos around the traffic lights. The radio played songs that were half static and half enough nostalgia to top off the surreal vibe of the whole day. Like Tony had walked into an alternate dimension the second he’d set foot in Bucky’s dressing room and was seeing everything flipped backwards in a mirror.

 

Hammer had texted him to let him know that the RV was going to be dropped off outside their apartment building in the morning. He had, of course, also included a string of emoticons that gradually made less and less sense. Strangely, the harsh blue light from his phone screen reminding him of the ever ticking clock hanging above his head did nothing to rip away the sense of peace that came with his day’s tourism of liminal spaces--waking up in Bucky’s bed, being backstage at the Red Room, seeing the courthouse after dark, or flying down the empty highway with everything shifted just slightly to the left of normal.

 

He had no idea what was coming next--whether they would return to Bucky’s apartment, whether Peter would be waiting for them, if the assholes that had ransacked his apartment had come back--but he felt strangely ready for it. Armed with the assurance that whatever it was, he wasn’t going to be alone in facing it. That didn’t mean that Bucky was necessarily going to be actually _helpful_ (in fact, their track record rather vehemently indicated otherwise) but it meant that he was going to be present. As present and unpredictable as he’d always been since the day they’d met in the hallway.

 

Tony had been surprised when Bucky insisted that Tony was too tired to drive. He’d figured that Bucky would’ve rather done just about anything other than get back behind the wheel of a car. To go on a highway, no less. But he had insisted. He didn’t pay any mind to Tony as he drove, eyes flickering from road signs to the mirrors, and to the road. While caution radiated from every pore in his skin--it was not in the anxious jittery way that Tony himself was used to--it was calm and calculating. Bucky ran his hands along the sides of the steering wheel gently, metal fingertips clicking against the wooden underside absently. He’d wrangled his hair back into a messy bun and had managed to get a bunch of the glitter off of his face at least. It was still dotting down his right arm, glimmering from under what Tony could see of Bucky’s collarbone as the street lights flashed over him in a steady, silent rhythm.

 

Whatever it was he and Bucky were to each other--despised enemies, neighbors, an occasional quick and easy lay--the relationship was undeniably changing. As much as Tony preferred reading machines to people even he could admit that air was starting to taste differently around Bucky. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. Bucky was both the greatest threat to and the best defense for the strange peace that had settled on them like an itchy blanket. It made him temporarily the most fascinating thing in the world.

 

Tony could feel the mortar made of self consciousness in the brick wall that kept Bucky at arms length seeping out of him and drifting away behind them like he’d poured it out the open window and onto the highway. It was an unnerving sensation, to both recognize his own vulnerability and not be able to pinpoint what exactly it had been that pricked a hole in the dam.

 

It was the longest they’d ever been in each other’s presence, Tony realized, without fighting or fucking.

 

Bucky looked over at him, startled. “Is that what you’ve been chewin’ on over there?”

 

“Guess I said that out loud.” Tony’s lips tugged off to the side in a semblance of a smile that he was too tired to follow through with. “True, though. I think. Can’t remember anything that could contest it.”

 

“What about this morning?” Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave the road as he spoke.

 

The glow of three street lights passed over them in waves before Tony replied, “Honestly wasn’t sure that was real. Until you said that, I mean.”

 

“Oh.” Bucky nodded.  

 

Tony swallowed, and looked down at his hands curled in his lap. He squeezed them into fists then let them relax, watching the way old scars bent across his skin.

 

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, voice coming out a little softer than he wanted, “It was nice. Just… unexpected.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said again, except it was entirely different. Warmer. Tony watched him as he said it, watched as the word was accented by tiny crinkles in the corners of his eyes, watched the subtle way his jaw twitched like he wanted to smile and wasn’t sure he could. Tony wasn’t sure when he’d learned to look for those signs.

 

Tony felt heat creeping up from his neck to the tips of his ears and forced his gaze back down at his hands.

 

“You’ve always been unpredictable but,” Tony shrugged, “I definitely wasn’t expecting you to be such a secret softie.”

 

Bucky’s eyes flashed over to him again, the happy crinkles gone, replaced with something more wary. Tony ignored the furious pounding in his chest and met Bucky’s gaze with as much sincerity as he could summon. He felt the stupid little smile on his lips and knew he couldn’t wrestle it away in time, even if he’d wanted to.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

 

Whatever it was Bucky saw as he scrutinized Tony’s features, apparently he passed muster. The edge to his look softened with surprise, then rested in something not entirely unlike fondness. Tony couldn’t look away.

 

“Well, I hate to be the one to break it to such a loyal patron, but I’m not _actually_ the Winter Soldier,” Bucky informed him, the twinkle of mirth in his eyes ruining the grave expression he was trying to emulate.

 

Just like that, Bucky’s words sent a shock through the stillness, shaking up the peace like a snowglobe. He spoke the same comfortable, familiar dry humour that Tony had grown accustomed to but his words were a whole new kind of dare.

 

If Tony hadn’t known Bucky for as long as he had he wouldn’t have seen the way the admittance cracked his facade, letting shards of it splinter away to reveal strips of vulnerability to match Tony’s own. The information wasn’t revolutionary. Bucky was only implying that he had more emotional range than anger and lust. Tony already knew that, but the words were nearly an acknowledgement that Tony had no reason to believe otherwise.

 

It was a promise that he could give Tony a reason now. If Tony wanted it.

 

The nervousness in the air felt electric and pressure was weighing on the tip of Tony’s tongue as he tried to parse out how to make sure that the world falling down around him landed where he wanted it to.

 

Wherever that was.

 

Tony grinned, felt the electricity settle a little, then feigned shock as Bucky watched him closely.

 

“You mean it was all an act?” Tony widened his eyes and gasped. “I want my money back.”

 

Slowly, _painfully slowly_ , Bucky’s lips curled into a mirror of Tony’s grin. A quiet laugh bubbled up from Bucky’s chest that he half-heartedly masked with a slight cough, like the sound and feeling was as surprising to Bucky as it was to Tony.

 

They drove the rest of the way in silence, neither willing to completely let go of their smiles.

 

Bucky pulled into the battered parking lot smoothly, twisted his keys out of the ignition, moved his hand towards the door handle and paused. Tony barely caught the hesitation out of the corner of his eye, and shot Bucky a questioning look.

 

“You sure you can’t get Peter to stay here?” Bucky asked as he frowned.

 

Unlike the road home, the parking lot wasn’t dotted with streetlights. It was old and sandwiched beside the old brick wall of their apartment building, the flat white concrete wall of an old factory, and the short wall leading up to a sloped tin roof of the local strip mall that had long since gone out of fashion. What little light came in from the roadway and sidewalk was barely enough for Tony to be able to see the concern etched into Bucky’s features.

 

“I don’t know,” Tony said honestly. “He promised to follow me if I tried to leave him behind.”

 

Bucky’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Ain’t he supposed to be a kid genius? Followin’ your neighbor through a smugglin’ operation is flat out stupid.”

 

“I know,” Tony agreed.

 

“Maybe he’s bluffing,” Bucky said lamely.

 

Tony snorted. “I doubt it. One time I refused to let him see the schematics for a project and he camped outside my door for a week.”

 

Bucky’s eyebrows raised. “Did it work?”

 

“Hell no.” Tony shook his head. “I called his Aunt. She drove up here to set him straight.”

 

Bucky laughed. “Don’t s’pose you could call her again?”

 

“And tell her what?” Tony shrugged. “‘Hi again, Ms. Parker. It’s that weird guy your nephew stalked once. I’m smuggling some heavy duty weapons and chemicals across the border and Peter’s being a real pain in the ass about it. Could you come collect him? Oh, and don’t call the cops on me.’ Yeah, that should do it.”

 

“Sounded great to me,” Bucky said with a sly grin.

 

Tony rolled his eyes, muttered “flatterer,” and then let himself out of the car, locking the door before closing it behind him. Bucky followed suit and tossed the keys back to Tony, who scrambled embarrassingly to catch them. The smirk on Bucky’s face said that he’d seen the slip up, but he remained thankfully quiet about it.

 

“And if he’s going to follow me,” Tony paused and nodded at Bucky, “If he’s going to follow us, then I’d rather be able to keep an eye on him. Make sure he’s safe.”

 

“Or at least that he doesn’t do anything extra stupid,” Bucky said with a nod and a sigh as they climbed the stairs. “He’s just so damn young.”

 

“That’s where that extra stupid comes from,” Tony replied swiftly. “Didn’t you do stupid things as a kid?”

 

“I guess,” Bucky looked thoughtful. He started mumbling about some venture back in Brooklyn and Tony only caught every other word of it, watching in amusement as Bucky spent a minute or two fishing around in his bag for his keys before trying to unlock his door. Then, Bucky stopped mid-word, and his entire body went rigid.

 

“What?” Tony whispered, looking from the door with the little red star to Bucky, to the door again. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

 

“It’s unlocked,” Bucky whispered back.

 

Bucky looked over his shoulder past Tony, to Tony’s apartment. The wreckage was still very much visible, but it didn’t look like it had gotten any worse. One of the planks of wood from the kicked in door was angled in a way that Tony didn’t remember, but that could’ve just been bad memory. Or it could’ve just shifted. Tony’s gut clenched painfully.

 

“Any chance you might have forgotten to lock it?” Tony whispered, trying to sound hopeful. Bucky shot him an unimpressed look. Tony cringed. “Yeah. Figured.”

 

Bucky stared at his lock for another second or so, before reaching slowly to the handle. His hand wrapped around it and started turning when Tony realized what he was doing.

 

“Are you crazy?” Tony hissed frantically. “They might still be in there!”

 

Instead of responding, Bucky shushed him and motioned for Tony to get behind him. Tony resisted the urge to groan.

 

The handle turned quietly and the door opened without a sound. Bucky, still clad in his leather gear from work with the added protection of an old hoodie, carefully started stepping into his own apartment. Like he wasn’t going to just get shot in the face by some drugged out youths if he was just quiet enough to sneak up on him.

 

Tony grit his teeth and slung his own backpack forward, digging through it until he found his handgun. He cocked it and pulled back the safety. The light clicks snagged Bucky’s attention and wide blue-grey eyes locked on him in surprise. Bucky looked at the gun in Tony’s hands and for a second, it looked like Bucky was going to actually protest the idea.

 

Tony didn’t get the chance to find out. Peter Parker rounded the corner of the living room into the entrance hallway, the bags under his eyes made him look like he’d pissed in the Sandman’s cereal.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” Peter demanded, seemingly unbothered by the gun pointed in his direction, or Bucky’s obvious sneaking crouch. “I’ve been up all night trying waiting for you two to come back. I tried to text you, Mr. Stark. Then I called you, but the number you gave me was apparently a sex line in Montana and I don’t have your number Mr. Barnes, so I’ve been watching all the news channels on every device I could find, including the local police radio mind you, while terrified out of my mind that I’d hear about an incident--”

 

“Jesus kid,” Bucky interrupted Peter’s babble finally, stepping forward to place a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Take it easy. We’re alright.”

 

Peter scowled up at him and knocked the hand off his shoulder swiftly. “I’m not a kid!”

 

“Yes, you are,” Bucky and Tony said simultaneously.

 

“I’m not,” Peter snapped, glaring his best daggers at Bucky, but Bucky only stared back blandly, so Peter turned his attention to Tony instead. “Aunt May called, by the way. She was freaking out.”

 

“About what?” Bucky looked back at Tony, confused.

 

“Oh just Peter’s earlier stunt, I imagine.” Tony glowered back at the kid. “Our _son_ here decided to announce himself to the local press.”

 

“Ah, right,” Bucky nodded. “That.”

 

“What did you tell her?” Tony pressed. He was in the process of flicking the safety back on the handgun, and removing the bullet he’d loaded into the chamber so he could stuff it back in his bag. “That you won’t be going anywhere near Mexico? That you’re an idiot and pulled a stupid stunt and that you’re sorry?”

 

“No.” Peter suddenly looked smug in a way that Tony did _not_ like. “I told her that the situation was _confidential_.”

 

“Oh, good,” Bucky mumbled, dragging a tired hand down his face and pinching at the bridge of his nose. “We’re already veering rapidly towards perjury.”

 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Peter retorted, still looking far too proud of himself. Tony stepped forward, bringing Peter’s attention back to him before Peter decided to do something stupid like start another glaring contest with Bucky Barnes--who was looking gradually more amenable to the idea.

 

“That doesn’t matter,” Tony said. He was aiming for gentle, but the words came out a little harshly. Peter’s wide eyes were on him, the hurt and surprise clear. For about the millionth time, Tony wished Peter had chosen literally anyone else to view as a mentor. “This is dangerous, kid. You could get seriously hurt, or killed--”

 

“So could you!” Peter interrupted.

 

“What?” Tony’s gentle attempt at persuasion came to a screeching halt. “No, I--”

 

“That’s why you have to take me with you,” Peter said. His arms crossed over his chest and the gleam of defiance in his eyes contrasted with all the other signs of exhaustion. He turned without explanation and walked back into the living room.

 

Tony looked at Bucky. Bucky looked back at Tony. Tony shrugged. Bucky breathed out a long sigh through his nose, then nodded, following Peter.

 

Peter was messing with a rucksack that was about as big as his entire person. At least three whole Peter Parkers could fit inside it with room to spare. He paid them no mind, and spent his energy digging through the grey patchwork monstrosity, setting aside things that were getting in his way as he went. A bag of cotton balls. A roll of bandage tape. Some steel scissors. Pliers. ...Was that a scalpel?

 

“What the hell is this?” Tony asked as Peter pulled something that looked like a hot glue gun.

 

“My thesis,” Peter said, still distracted. He parted the junk in the bag with more vigor and squinted into it. His face lit up and his plunged his hand deep into the right side of the bag. When he pulled it out, he was holding something that looked like the skeleton of a gauntlet. He placed it off to the side and reached in again. This time he pulled out what looked like a caulking gun. But that wasn’t what made Tony’s breath catch in his throat.

 

No, that would be due to the miniature arc reactor that Peter pulled out last, dusting it off and holding it up triumphantly. He looked at Tony excitedly. “I kept trying to tell you about it--”

 

“Whoa, whoa,” Tony lunged forward, making a grab at the arc reactor. Peter dodged the swipe easily and jumped nimbly back to his feet, scowling. But Tony didn’t care. “What the hell is that?”

 

“An arc reactor,” Peter said primly. “Medical grade.”

 

Tony’s jaw dropped. He moved towards Peter again and made another grab at it. Peter ducked under his arm and skittered to the other side of the room. Tony glared at him. Peter glared right back.

 

“Where did you get the materials for that?” Tony demanded.

 

Peter winced and looked down at the device in his hand. Tony took the opportunity to give chase across the room but to no avail. Peter was still faster.

 

“Uh, don’t… Don’t worry about it,” Peter said vaguely, waving the hand that wasn’t holding the arc reactor in a way that was probably supposed to be placating. Tony’s eyes narrowed. Peter cleared his throat and continued, “but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that with just a couple adjustments, it should _work_.”

 

Tony’s heart clenched painfully in his chest and his mouth felt dry. The light in Peter’s eyes was so bright, so determined, and he was looking at the arc reactor in his hand like it was a fist sized diamond instead of a handful of disaster. Undeterred, Peter looked between Tony and Bucky as if that should have made everything clear. The room stayed silent for a beat too long.

 

Bucky, mercifully, broke the silence with a short cough. Tony turned to look at him, and saw the same frown that Bucky had pointed at Tony so many times. It was the ‘I cannot believe you think that’s a good idea’ frown. And it was pointed at someone that wasn’t Tony. Therefore, Tony thought that the rush of victorious and smug feelings were completely justified.

 

“You want to go on a field trip to Mexico with a drug dealer, a stripper, and an RV full of weapons and explosives,” Bucky spoke slowly, calmly, and clearly. Like he was sounding out each word and making sure it was the right choice. He watched Peter carefully and the kid squirmed under the intensity of it. Finally, Bucky finished with, “and your best argument is that you made and brought your own bomb?”

 

Tony laughed before he could think better of it.

 

“It’s not a bomb!” Peter said petulantly. “Quite the opposite. It’s a stabilizer. The magnetic field it produces has the capacity to hold metallic stitches in place, removing the need for inserted structural devices traditionally used to prevent organ collapse, or--”

 

“Wait, hold on,” Bucky interrupted again. “Who the hell is lettin’ you anywhere near human organs?”

 

Peter blinked. He looked between Bucky and Tony, raising an eyebrow at them. “I’m a medical student.”

 

“I thought you were in bio-engineering?” Tony frowned.

 

Peter shrugged. “Double major.”

 

“A double major for a Bachelor of Arts in bio-engineering,” Bucky said, sounding for all the world like someone was trying to convince him the tooth fairy was real after all, “and _a fuckin’ M.D.?_ ”

 

Peter just nodded at them both, smiling brightly and swallowing back a yawn.

 

“Aren’t you like,” Bucky gestured to Peter’s entire person, “fourteen?”

 

“I’m eighteen!”

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Bucky breathed. Tony guffawed.

 

Bucky shook his head, muttering, “When do you have time to sleep?” at the same time Tony snickered out, “No wonder you’ve never heard of 420.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” Tony said quickly with a grin.

 

Peter squinted at him, obviously wanting to say more. Tony’s grin broadened, daring him to make a thing of it. The arc reactor was still loosely gripped in Peter’s hand and if Tony got him distracted enough, then maybe he could still get it. But Peter didn’t go for the bait. Unfortunately. Instead he launched into another lengthy explanation that threatened to fly right over Tony’s head. He was too tired for this.

 

“The webbing I designed--in the field-ready glove over there, and that’s the applicator next to it, yeah--creates an instant clotting effect. And! Because it’s absorbable by the body, the webbing doesn’t hinder the reparation process in muscle or tissue. It just moves out of the way. But if something might heal incorrectly--”

 

“Like a bone fragment splintering off in a severe break?” Bucky asked, sounding interested like the traitor he was. They were supposed to be dissuading Peter, not encouraging him.

 

“Exactly!” Peter nodded excitedly. “The webbing can’t and won’t account for something like that. That’s why I need the arc reactor. With metallic stitching or structures, the bone or tissue or whatever can be slowly tugged back to where it needs to be through generated magnetic fields at varying levels of intensity.”

 

Tony’s voice failed him, staying at the bottom of his throat even at Peter stared expectantly. The light in the kid’s eyes was just starting to dim when Bucky spoke for the both of them.

 

“That’s damn impressive, kid,” Bucky said.

 

Peter’s grin was blinding. “It’s not just impressive, it makes on-site medical triage practically _foolproof_.”

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, “If you happen to have a talented surgeon on hand.”

 

“Well, _yeah--_ ”

 

“And sterilized metallic thread that won’t cause more damage,” Tony pointed out.

 

“Okay, but--”

 

“And you find a neat and tidy way to strap a small car bomb to your recent injury,” Bucky’s lips threatened to curl into his trademark smirk.

 

“Never mind that removing the arc reactor without disrupting the internal structures would be a whole other mess--” Tony started in, grinning wickedly as Peter rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation.

 

“Alright, fine, I get it! It’s not perfect.” Peter scowled and that determined gleam was back. “But it could still save a life. Your lives.”

 

Just like that, the teasing vibe in the air dropped like a stone and the reality of what awaited them in the morning--no, it was already morning. What awaited them within a matter of _hours_.

 

“Peter…” Bucky’s voice was a warning. Tony felt useless, paralyzed.

 

“And it’s not up for debate, alright?” Peter’s voice wavered just a bit and Tony hurt for him. “I’m coming even if I have to blow my budget on a rental car and stalk you all the way there. You can’t stop me.”

 

“Peter, is there anything we can do to convince you to stay home?” Bucky spoke in that awful gentle way that people used to break bad news. Like he already knew the answer.

 

“No,” Peter snapped. “I want to save people. And to do it I need his--” he points at Tony, “--brain to be in one piece, so that he can help me fix the arc reactor. There’s no way in hell I’m letting him die out in the middle of nowhere when there’s a chance I could prevent it from happening. Not when I’m this close.”

 

Tony was stunned. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to summon the words that normally came to him so naturally. Bucky was watching him and Tony wanted desperately to sink into the floor.

 

“And if you think I’m giving up just because _you_ have? Well, you… You can go _fuck yourself._ ” Peter snarled at Tony, taking a few steps toward him.

 

Distantly, Tony realized that Peter was close enough that he could reach out and try to steal the arc reactor, but he was frozen to the spot. Bucky was talking over Peter who was still going on about something, but it all blended together into an unintelligible sludge of noise. He only just picked out the sound of the door slamming behind Peter as he stormed out.

 

Bucky’s hand hovered over Tony’s shoulder for a moment before it rested and squeezed softly. Tony jerked out of his reverie with his heart still pounding painfully in his ears. He could feel the flush across his face and looked down at the floor instead of meeting Bucky’s worried look. His eyes strayed to the hand on his left shoulder. He stared at it and wondered how such minor contact could produce an inferno of heat over Tony’s skin.

 

When Bucky’s hand pulled away, Tony finally summoned the courage to look up at him again. The nervousness and worry was gone, replaced by Bucky’s usual cool confidence and calculating look. He offered Tony a measured smile.

 

“It looks like he takes after you,” Bucky spoke quietly, but it was still loud in the empty room.

 

Tony snorted. “I’m not that dramatic.”

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him and Tony started to feel more like his pulse belonged to him.

 

“I’m not,” Tony insisted. “Besides, he obviously takes after you. Did you hear that ambition mixed with questionable means? ‘Uh… Don’t worry about it.’ Yeah, that sounds just like you Mr. You-Owe-Me-70k instead of 60k.”

 

A grin spread across Bucky’s face that melted away the cold. He shrugged his good shoulder. “What can I say? I’m worth it.”

 

Tony put on his most disbelieving face, eyeing Bucky in an exaggerated sweep. “And what the hell did you do to earn a 10k bonus, hm?”

 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed a bit, but the calculating look was still there, undaunted by the smile. Heavy lashes fluttered low as Bucky returned the favour, dragging his eyes over Tony’s body. But his look was slower and burned hotter than the hand on Tony’s shoulder had. Bucky met his gaze again, pulling his own bottom lip between his teeth and biting down on it.

 

“How ‘bout you let me show you?” Bucky’s voice dropped low, soft, and suggestive in the way that made Tony dizzy.

 

He was reaching for Tony again, cold metal fingers curling around Tony’s right hand first, then warm soft fingers around his left. Bucky crowded further into his space and placed Tony’s hands Bucky’s hips. The smooth fabric under Tony’s hands bunched up like it had a mission and he traced his fingers on the skin beneath it. Bucky busied himself by running his fingertips up Tony’s arms in feather light touches that almost tickled. He traced up over Tony’s collarbone and finally coming to rest cradling Tony’s jaw. Bucky kept walking into him, pushing him backwards until Tony could feel the cool flat of the wall behind him. It was quickly contrasted by the press of Bucky’s body into his own. The sensation was heady enough to make his already tired head feel faint in the best of ways.

 

When Tony’s body finally decided to cooperate, he dug his fingers into Bucky’s sides and rubbed his thumbs in circles over jutting hip bones, encouraging Bucky to press himself further into Tony. He heard as much as felt the sharp intake of breath, pleased with the matching flutter of eyelashes as Bucky let his eyes fall closed.

 

Tony leaned forward to catch Bucky’s bottom lip between his own, sucking gently. Bucky hummed. He tilted his head to better slot their lips together and his fingertips pressed into the skin on the back of Tony’s neck. Bucky kissed him slowly, deeply, dragging his fingers from Tony’s jaw to card through his curls. He tugged just a little when Tony bit down lightly on Bucky’s lip. Tony gasped and Bucky used the opportunity to slide his tongue into Tony’s mouth, teasing him back into the kiss sweetly. His hands kept Tony in place, wouldn’t let him make the kiss rougher or deeper. Keeping it slow and, with the addition of rolled hips, absolutely filthy.

 

Bucky’s hands fell back down to Tony’s chest. He brushed teasingly light over Tony’s nipples then down towards the hem of Tony’s shirt. Bucky's hand slipped underneath the fabric and Tony moaned into the kiss. He rolled his hips against Bucky’s again, thrilled at the breathy whine it earned him. He could already feel Bucky hard against his thigh and Tony made to grind against it again when the hands on his bare sides held him still.

 

Tony opened his eyes when Bucky pulled back from the kiss to give him a sly grin. He barely had a second to ask what exactly Bucky thought he was doing before Bucky’s lips were trailing down his throat. The metal hand rucked up his shirt over his chest, keeping it in place as Bucky sucked open mouthed kisses down Tony’s torso, tracing down his stomach with his tongue and kneeling finally when he bit down on the waistband of Tony’s jeans and _tugged_.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” Tony swore under his breath, staring down at Bucky as he mouthed at the hard outline of Tony’s cock under the denim, moaning like he was hungry for it. “Holy _shit_ , Buck.”

 

Blue eyes locked on Tony again as Bucky made a big show of tugging open the button and pulling down the zipper. His mouth was on Tony again, unable to wait long enough to pull Tony free of his boxers and Tony couldn’t get enough of the heat and pressure. Judging by the self-satisfied look Bucky was giving him, that was entirely according to plan.

 

“So how ‘bout it?” Bucky asked innocently, nosing at the fabric. “How ‘bout you let me suck that pretty dick of yours and show you just how much of a bargain 10k is?”

 

The memory of Brock’s offer at the Red Room burst through Tony’s mind and his heart dropped through the floorboards. He yanked himself away from Bucky’s mouth and hands like they had scalded him. Bucky fell backwards with a yelp and caught himself just before he hit the floor.

 

“Sorry,” Tony blurted. He quickly did up his fly and tried to smooth over the front of his jeans. “It’s not that I wasn’t into it or anything, I just. Y’know. That’s different.”

 

“What?” Bucky blinked at him.

 

“Not different in a bad way!” Tony said reassuringly. “Just doesn’t really do it for me as a concept. Really though, no judgment. Your choices are your own and paid consent is still consent; I know that. It’s just not my style.” Tony paused, and frowned as the thought occurred to him. “And if you aren’t into it without that, then… Well, I understand, I guess. I probably can’t afford you anyways--”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Bucky had shoved himself back onto his feet and was scowling. Shit. “That I fuck people for money?”

 

Tony’s eyes went wide and he raised up his hands in surrender. “There’s nothing wrong with that! I would just feel weird going from being a fuck buddy to being a client--”

 

“You think I fuck people for money because I’m a stripper?” Bucky spat the words out and Tony blanched. “Fuck you. I can’t believe I actually thought--! No. _Fuck you_ , Stark.”

 

“No, wait!” Tony tried to interject. “Wait, hold on, I didn’t even consider it until tonight, because--”

 

“What, seeing is believing?”

 

“--because _Brock tried to sell you to me!_ ”

 

That stopped Bucky in his tracks.

 

Tony couldn’t stop kicking himself for ruining what had been shaping up to be a fantastic morning just because he couldn’t seem to keep his foot out of his mouth. They had been getting along. Tony had been about to be on the receiving end of one of Bucky’s more admirable skills, sure, but it had been more than that. They had been laughing and smiling and now Bucky was staring at him like he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to kill Tony before or after he tossed him out of the apartment.

 

Instead, Bucky settled on, “...What?”

 

“Brock. Tall, beefy, might have five brain cells if he’s real lucky. Looks like he owns at least five pairs of salmon coloured deck shorts--”

 

Bucky shook his head. “I know who he is. He tried to do what?”

 

“Sell you. To me.” Tony spoke carefully, watching as the anger in Bucky simmered down. “He recognized my name on the ticket and assumed I was rich. Which would have been funny if it wasn’t a textbook case of dramatic irony, considering the current situation--”

 

“Tony,” Bucky said softly. He ran his hand through his hair as his jaw clenched. He wasn’t looking at Tony anymore. Bucky stared down the floor like it might fall away beneath him if he looked elsewhere.

 

Tony swallowed thickly and continued. “He said that a man like me could surely afford… I don’t remember how he put it. Your ‘off the menu’ options, or something. It was heavily implied.”

 

Bucky nodded once. Tony’s fingers itched to reach out, to place a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder, but Bucky looked like he rather be just about anything other than touched. So Tony stayed still and waited.

 

Bucky’s eyes flicked back up to meet Tony’s, all caution and guarded suspicion.

 

“And that’s why you stopped me?” he asked. That was a loaded question. Tony couldn’t tell _how_ loaded or loaded _with what_ , but that was _definitely_ a loaded question. “Because you thought I was going to start charging you for sex?”

 

“No,” Tony said, then frowned. “Yes. Sort of. Not completely.”

 

Bucky stared at him and offered no assistance as Tony wracked his brain for the correct answer.

 

“The nature of the, uh, interaction,” Tony cringed as he fumbled for words, “changes when there’s a transaction. The sincerity.”

 

He was met with a blank look. Tony groaned and wrapped his arms around himself.

 

“I’m not into it if you’re not into it,” Tony said simply, shrugging. He avoided looking at Bucky, instead cataloguing everything he could see in Peter’s rucksack. “You’ve done me a lot of favours lately. Not for free, I know. Don’t worry, I’m not backing out of that part of the deal. But I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

 

The room settled into a familiar tense silence that made Tony want to speak if only just to shatter the feeling. But he couldn’t figure out what to say. What do you say to someone who’s just found out about their boss trying to pimp them out to customers? ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ didn’t seem to cut it.

 

“That’s how customers kept getting my number,” Bucky spoke so quietly that Tony had to strain to hear him. “Had to give Rumlow my new number each time it changed. He must have...”

 

Bucky trailed off, and Tony spoke so he didn’t have to.

 

“That would explain it,” Tony said. “I can set up something for you. A program so that you’ll only receive messages from approved numbers. Will encrypt your texts too, since I’m willing to bet money I don’t have that your creepy manager has eyes on your messages for proof of purchase. I can make all your texts appear to him as the entire script of The Bee Movie.”

 

That startled a laugh out of Bucky and about ten pounds of pressure was lifted from Tony’s chest. He smiled back hesitantly.

 

“You don’t gotta do that.” Bucky said gruffly. He gestured broadly to his mechanical arm. “You already do enough.”

 

“No, no,” Tony brushed away his concerns. “I want to. It’s not that big of a project, either. Two, maybe three hours? Definitely no more than four.”

 

“Why?” Bucky asked, head tilted just a bit to the side. His gaze was still far too intense, so Tony busied himself with stuffing the bizarre assortment of medical equipment back into Peter’s bag. But Bucky didn’t let it go. He dropped down to the floor to help Tony clean up and eyed him curiously. “Why do you care at all if my boss is a creep? It ain’t your problem, yeah? I’m just the asshole next door.”

 

Tony grinned and ran his thumb over a taut plastic bag filled with gauze before he tucked it away.  “Actually, I married you about three hours ago. You’re not just the asshole next door anymore. You’re the asshole next door who also happens to be _my husband_.”

 

Bucky laughed and watched as Tony made a half-assed attempt at organizing the contents of the bag before giving up. Tony pulled the zipper closed, ignoring the intensity of Bucky’s gaze on him.

 

“Why don’t you go get some sleep, hm?” Bucky suggested. He nodded meaningfully at the clock on his wall that claimed it was a little past 6AM. “I’ve got a call to make and one of us has gotta be able to drive a goddamn RV to Mexico in less than five hours.”

 

Tony opened his mouth to protest on principle but quickly clamped it shut in an attempt at repressing a yawn. Bucky watched with a half crooked smile. He shook his head. Tony watched Bucky pry himself off the floor with a groan and stretch out his back. The hoodie rode up a little bit and Tony was treated to the sight of soft skin.

 

He looked up at Bucky, who stared at him expectantly. The smile was still curled on his lips and there was no teasing edge to it. No wariness. Tony wondered when on earth he’d gone and earned that kind of trust from Bucky. But the soft look from those grey-blue eyes was as foreign on Bucky’s face as it looked right. Like this was what Bucky’s face had been missing for all these years. Or maybe Tony just hadn’t been privy to it. He couldn’t help but think of those years as years wasted when he stared back up at the man who’d agreed to marry him on the off chance that it might save his life.

 

Bucky waited til Tony was standing to wrap arm around Tony to guide him towards the bedroom. The gesture was as sweet as it was off-putting and Tony quashed the knee-jerk reaction to insist he was fine, that he didn’t need any help. He just let himself lean into the warmth of Bucky’s embrace, let himself be taken care of and tucked under the familiar red quilt that smelled like vanilla cologne.

 

He thought he felt Bucky press a kiss to his forehead, but Tony’s eyes were shut before he even hit the pillow. He barely could make sense of Bucky’s voice drifting in from the living room (‘ _Hey, Stevie? Yeah, hi, it’s me. How was your day, punk? ...Hah, yeah, I’ve had an interesting one too. You go first._ ’) before sleep took him.

 

* * *

 

There had to be something magical about Bucky’s apartment. The lazy way the light filtered through the air let it get caught on dust particles that hung in perfect stillness, just the same as it had been the first time he’d woken up in Bucky’s bed. Warmth coloured every shade of red in the quilt like the bed had been thrown together to jealously hoard every fleck of heat that touched it. Wrapped around him, it was almost too much. The saving grace came in the form of cool metal fingers brushing his hair away from his face.

 

When his eyes finally focused, Tony blinked up at Bucky. His hair was damp, he smelled like soap, and he was smiling softly.

 

“Hey,” Bucky poked at his cheek playfully. “‘Bout time you joined the world. Was startin’ to get worried.”

 

Tony hummed, unable to pluck out the right words to describe just exactly how much he never expected to be in this particular situation. Every aspect of it. The warm safe bed belonging to someone else, the gentle touches and peaceful mornings… Everything. It was too much. So he let his eyes close before he could spot something that would shatter the illusion and nuzzled into Bucky’s metal palm.

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Bucky chided, pulling his hand away. “You already suckered another hour of sleep out of me with that trick. Not fallin’ for it this time.”

 

“I did?” Tony mumbled, opening one eye.

 

“Mmhm,” Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, that soft smile replaced with his more familiar smirk. “Made the most pitiful noises I’ve ever heard. You’da thought anyone that sounded like that was on death’s door.”

 

That pulled a breathy laugh from his chest and already Tony could feel the haze of sleep draining away from him. “Rhodey always warned people not to trust a thing I say when I’m sleepy.”

 

“Sound advice,” Bucky nodded solemnly. His head tilted a little in consideration. “‘People’? Sounds like this was a regular occurrence.”

 

Well he’d walked right into that one. Tony nodded, but that didn’t exactly answer the question and he knew it. And with Bucky peering at him with those all-too-observant eyes Tony didn’t like his odds of squirming out of the topic. He squeezed his eyes shut, scrunched up his nose and stretched out as far as he could, arching his back in the way he knew Bucky was weak for and got his revenge by blinking up at Bucky from under his lashes.

 

“Yep,” Tony said, pleased to see that the rasp of sleep in his voice was having the desired effect when Bucky swallowed thickly. “People. Plural. Despite rumours, I did actually make a few attempts at meaningful relationships.”

 

That got Bucky’s attention. “Oh? Thought you didn’t ‘do feelings.’”

 

“I don’t,” Tony’s lips twitched, but he kept the grin at bay with the stubbornness being awoken before he was ready granted him. “Used to, though. All crashed and burned.”

 

Bucky’s eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. “You? Being surrounded by explosions? I can’t imagine it.”

 

“Ha ha, very _funny_ , Barnes,” Tony shoved at him as he sat up. Bucky stood from where he’d been perched at the edge of the mattress and moved towards the bedroom door, gesturing for Tony to follow.

 

Tony took his sweet time, stretching out his legs, curling and uncurling his toes and tugging his arms up over his head again as he relished the way it opened up his lungs to more crisp air. Bucky lingered in the doorway, his eyes resting on something in the living room as he spoke to Tony.

 

“You comin’ or not?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony huffed and rolled his shoulders. Bucky lead the way through the living room to the kitchen bar and Tony slid onto one of the barstools, resting his arms and head on the cool granite countertop. Something savoury was sizzling in a frying pan and a waffle maker timer ticked seconds away promisingly.

 

But Tony was still pouting. He’d managed to avoid the ‘is there anyone else’ talk with Bucky for over ten years. It just figured that he would finally get himself cornered after getting to witness Bucky’s professional skills up close and personal, marrying the bastard, then getting the worst case of self-inflicted blue balls since the Incident of 2011.

 

Bucky stirred at whatever it was in the pan, bringing up his metal hand to cover a yawn that made his eyes squint. He was doing that thing where he stayed silent until Tony nearly burst with the need to fill the silence with something. Tony was about 87% sure that Bucky did it on purpose. The calm disinterested exterior had to be fake. No one just asked about their fuck buddy’s--international crime husband’s?--exes and was satisfied with vague and dodgy answers. No one was _that_ apathetic.

 

The past few years had actually done more to convince Tony that Bucky had never experienced apathy in his entire life; despite how hard Bucky tried to tell the world otherwise. Tony had a working theory that Bucky Barnes was surprisingly sensitive. It just didn’t make sense for a man who was otherwise painstakingly methodical and efficient to have unpredictable bouts of moodiness sparked by absolutely nothing. No, it made way more sense that the world got under Bucky’s skin far more than he would like.

 

That didn’t mean that Tony had any idea how to navigate that field full of landmines, though. Funnily enough, knowing that the field ahead of him was in fact full of landmines to begin with? Yeah, it didn’t exactly do wonders for his confidence in venturing out.

 

The first of the waffles beeped from the waffle maker and Bucky tugged it free with a fork, using his metal hand to transfer the hot food to a plate seamlessly. With tongs, he plucked out two pieces of sausage from the frying pan before sliding the plate in front of Tony. It took him only a second or so to shove the corresponding silverware within Tony’s reach, and he moved a roll of paper towels within reach. Presumably in place of napkins. It was an oddly charming attempt at playing host.

 

Bucky was in the midst of pouring more batter into the little metal machine when he spoke again. “Tried my hand at dating. Never went too far, though.”

 

“That so?” Tony speared one of the sausage links. “Couldn’t handle your sparkling personality?”

 

Bucky glared at him over his shoulder, then turned back to fussing at the waffle maker. “Yeah, well. Somethin’ like that.”

 

Tony stilled. “Wait. Really?”

 

Bucky turned to face him properly, looking irritated. “No, Stark. I’m lyin’ through my teeth.”

 

Tony didn’t know what to do with that. He wasn’t a total recluse during his undergrad days. Bucky had been decently popular on campus. Besides, Bucky hadn’t picked up his trademark ever-present cloud of gloom and doom until after the accident. Rumour had it that he was even charming. Not that he’d ever shown that side to Tony, but Tony had just assumed that was because they hated each other. A lot. Tony took a thoughtful bite of waffle and hummed.

 

“I gotta admit. I’m surprised,” Tony said. Bucky quirked an eyebrow at him, so he continued. “Not that I have any data of my own to examine, but the rumour mill was always churning out something about how Charming Bucky Barnes did this, that, or the other. You and your friend. The big blond one.”

 

“Stevie?” Bucky’s lips tugged at the corners as he fought back a smile. “He’s always been like that. That punk could spit out a speech at the drop of a hat like it was nothin’. Made everyone around him sign up for the stupidest shit.”

 

“I distinctly recall hearing something about a dare, a bottle of rum, and an amusement park,” Tony said between bites.

 

“Oh, God,” Bucky snorted. “No, that one was my idea. Worth it, though.”

 

Tony grinned. “See? With all those legends floating around I just figured… I don’t know. That you saved up all your _insufferable bastard_ just for me.”

 

“Not all of it,” Bucky grinned back. “Just most of it.”

 

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Tony said, trying for casual and joking, but the bitterness lanced through his words despite the attempt. He tried to grin through it. “So, you were telling me about how much everyone hates you?”  

 

Bucky looked briefly concerned, but the waffle maker beeped again and drew his attention away from Tony.

 

“Never been great with trust,” Bucky’s back was to Tony, but the half shrug still looked forced. The hunch of his shoulders was too defensive to be casual. Distantly, Tony wondered when he’d started paying so much attention to Bucky’s body language. Outside of sex, at least. “Turns out you need a lot of it for a healthy relationship. Or so I’m told.”

 

“Mm,” Tony swallowed the last bite of his waffle. “Sounds fake to me.”

 

Bucky laughed again and relaxed. Tony grinned reflexively. Bucky piled food onto his own plate and dropped it down where he could stand at the bar across from Tony.

 

“C’mon. Your turn.” Bucky pointed at him with his fork. “You said crashed and burned. That sounds like a story.”

 

“Coffee first,” Tony grumbled. “Don’t make me talk about exes before coffee, Barnes. That’s just cruel.”

 

“It’s technically Stark now,” Bucky said airily, but his snicker was more than visible as he started filling up the coffee maker with water. He glanced back at Tony. “Caf or decaf?”

 

Tony couldn’t stop the horrified expression that spread across his face. Bucky rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Caffeinated it is.”

 

A few minutes passed in silence as Bucky ate and Tony stared longingly at the coffee slowly dripping into the pot. He hadn’t seen a coffee maker that old since he’d frequented Bruce’s dorm room, but coffee was coffee. As soon as a hot mug of it was between his hands he sighed out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

 

The earlier events came crashing back in vivid clarity and Tony cringed. “Oh fuck. I called you a hooker.”

 

Bucky choked on a piece of waffle. He coughed, slamming his right hand against his chest and rushing his glass over to the sink to get water. Tony scowled at him, waiting for him to wipe the tears away from his eyes and catch his breath since the asshole was _still laughing_.

 

“How do you find this funny? I thought you were going to kill me on the spot,” Tony grumbled into his mug and Bucky bust into another fit of wheezing. “Well, I was going to _apologize_ , but not anymore.”

 

Bucky’s laughter receded enough for him to grin brightly at Tony. “You were gonna apologize for somethin’? Now this I gotta see.”

 

Tony bristled. “I apologize for stuff all the time!”

 

“To who?” Bucky scoffed. “You totalled my goddamn car and didn’t say squat.”

 

“Yeah, well, you broke my nose,” Tony returned. “Ruined my school ID photo.”

 

“You broke mine too,” Bucky pointed out.

 

“Oh and, y’know. Picked a fist fight in front of my dad. Who then disowned me,” Tony sounded sour. He knew he did. It was still a sore subject. He desperately wanted it not to be, but it was. Memories even vaguely adjacent to Howard Stark left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

“I, uh,” Bucky started, paused, bit his lip and looked down. “I am sorry about that. For whatever it’s worth.”

 

Tony looked up at him in surprise, mouth hanging open. Of all the things he’d expected, that had been the least likely. But there he was, Bucky Barnes shifting uncomfortably in his own kitchen, apologizing for Tony’s dad walking away and never looking back.

 

It wasn’t as satisfying a sight as his younger self had imagined.

 

When a younger Tony had imagined his day of reckoning, it was always something magnificent. It was supposed to be the day when the world at large finally recognized how much it had wronged him in his youth. The school attendant that had gotten him arrested for trying to finish U would explain how he had no idea how much was on the line. The reporters that had documented his final breakdown would publicly state that they had acted cruelly. Bucky would beg for forgiveness, for showing up at the exact wrong moment and helping Tony paint the worst possible picture of himself in front of his father.

 

Even in the wildest fantasies of his youth, he could never conjure up the image of Howard himself apologizing. It wasn’t like Tony hadn’t gone and googled his daddy issues. He knew damn well that Howard had treated him like shit. That his dad wasn’t worth the time or breath of making amends. But still it sat there, heavy in his heart, and it sounded like the way Howard had called him “Mr. Stark.”

 

But Bucky had apologized. It had been gruff and fumbled, but it was sincere. There was no begging for forgiveness. No grovelling. Just Bucky, standing in his own kitchen and somehow still looking like an outsider. Bucky placed his fork across his plate and stepped away from it, physically creating more distance between him and Tony. His metal arm was crossed over his chest, fingers holding on to his good shoulder so his right hand could cradle the limb. His eyes studied the tile of the kitchen floor and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

 

Tony wanted to bask in it. Thought he should be _able_ to bask in it, or demand the melodramatic apology his younger self had choreographed in detail if Bucky wanted to actually prove his regret. But the thought of Bucky being broken like that only made the clench around Tony’s heart worsen. It made him feel sick. He didn’t want to bask; he wanted to apologize for totalling Bucky’s car, destroying half his possessions, and inadvertently pushing Bucky towards the pole where his manager was now trying to sell him.

 

Tony frowned.

 

“Her name was Pepper. I was obsessed,” Tony said instead, staring into the remaining coffee in his mug. “We were together for almost a year. Sort of. I think we fought for at least three quarters of that time.”

 

Bucky stayed silent. Tony swallowed another big gulp of coffee and continued.

 

“She wanted me to be better. She wasn’t the only one,” Tony confessed. There was a list of names on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. Bucky didn’t need to hear his rich kid’s sob story. “Wanted me to quit dealing. Get a legitimate job. Quit wasting my future and all that.”

 

“So what happened?” Bucky asked quietly.

 

Tony laughed hollowly. “What does it look like happened? I disappointed her. So she left.”

 

Quiet settled into the kitchen again and Tony fidgeted with his nearly empty mug. Without more words to fill the space, Tony’s were left rattling around his head like an echo. They felt sharper, constricting his chest and sinking talons into his lungs until he couldn’t stand it.

 

“Why are we talking about this?” Tony asked, irritated. “Do you usually make a habit of asking all your house guests about their personal tragedies?”

 

“Only the ones I’m supposed to be married to,” Bucky offered a weak smile. “The paparazzi aren’t exactly known for respectin’ boundaries. And if we’re plannin’ on using them as our cover, then I gotta know what to expect. How to handle it.”

 

Tony looked at him blankly. Bucky’s smile turned wry.

 

“Tony, I’ve gone down on you more times than I remember but I don’t even know your middle name.” Bucky snickered as Tony choked on his coffee.

 

That was certainly one hell of a way to change topics. As grateful as he was for it, he still wasn’t thrilled about the sting in his eyes as he accidentally tried to make good on all his threats to literally live and _breathe_ coffee. He blinked rapidly through the reactionary tears.

 

“All I’m sayin’ is that wouldn’t it seem weird to you if a married couple didn’t know how to… Well. Be a couple?”

 

“I--” Tony coughed a little, still trying to get drops of coffee out of his lungs. He stared at Bucky. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Do you think it’s that noticeable?”

 

Bucky stared at him blandly. “We can’t just fuck in front of the press and hope they get the picture.”

 

Tony snorted at that. “There goes my plan.”

 

“Here, pass me your plate--thanks. You can’t seriously tell me that you expected to just fall into being a couple outta thin air,” Bucky sounded unimpressed as he started rinsing off their dishes. “Never mind a couple, we’re supposed to be _newly weds_. We’re literally supposed to be in our honeymoon phase.”

 

“Oh. All doe eyed and--”

 

“Mushy lovey shit,” Bucky nodded. “Yup.”

 

“Eugh,” Tony scrunched up his nose. “I changed my mind. I’m just going to turn myself over to Hammer. At least execution will be quick.”

 

“You’re so dramatic, Stark.”

 

Tony batted his eyelashes over the top of his mug, feigning innocence. “Well if you’re aiming for intimate and loving you could start by not calling me _Stark_. We have a kid. I think we’re past formalities.”

 

Bucky blinked at that and actually seemed surprised. Like he hadn’t realized he’d still been using the name at all. “Oh. Huh. Yeah, that’s true. Prob’ly need to give you a pet name.”

 

Tony nodded. “My friends call me Tones?”

 

“I like that. Suits you.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. But I gotta have something that’s just for us,” Bucky informed him firmly. “Otherwise it ain’t a proper pet name. Just a nickname. And that doesn’t count.”

 

“I had no idea you were an expert on this subject,” Tony said dryly.

 

Bucky grinned over his shoulder. “See? Learnin’ new things about each other already. Like that I’m actually helpful and you’re a fuckin’ smartass.”

 

“My ass is fantastic,” Tony retorted. “Easily one of my top five features.”

 

“Can’t say I disagree, doll. But ‘sweetcheeks’ ain’t exactly novel or unique to us. If we want this to work, we gotta sell ’em on our story.” Bucky dried his hands on a blue dish towel. He studied Tony intently as his right hand worked the towel around the metal joints with care. Tony made the conscious decision to meet his gaze head on instead of flinching away. It was still intense, but it was warmer and less critical than he’d been expecting. More thoughtful than anything else. Finally, Bucky said, “What about Sparks?”

 

“Sparks?” Tony raised his eyebrows. “Why Sparks?”

 

A smug grin slid across Bucky’s face that made Tony suspicious.

 

“‘Cuz when we met, _sparks flew._ ”

 

“Oh my God,” Tony groaned. He held out his empty mug, gesturing at the coffee pot. “That’s awful. I need at least three cups to handle that level of _disgustingly awful._ ”

 

“It is, ain’t it?” Bucky said, but he looked disturbingly proud of himself. “Now c’mon. Return the favour.”

 

Tony cringed. “I’m not great with pet names. Or nicknames. Can’t you name yourself?”

 

Bucky snorted and added more dish soap to the side of the sink filled with water. “You kidding me, Star-- Er. Sparks? You’re always callin’ me somethin’ embarrassing. Just gotta pick one.”

 

“I do not,” Tony denied instantly, then hesitated. “When?”

 

“Buckaroo, Buckarino, Bucket, Robo-cop--though the ones based on the arm are prob’ly out of the question. We met before that,” Bucky counted off the names on metal fingers. “Oh and Barnes. Which aside from being a weirdly hostile thing to call your lover, it’s not even applicable anymore.”

 

“Bucket,” Tony repeated. “When have I called you Bucket?”

 

He couldn’t really get a good look at Bucky’s face as he washed, but the huff was audible and Tony thought he caught a glimpse of a smile.

 

“The other night when I busted your door in,” Bucky sounded pretty pleased with himself. “And the first day we met.”

 

Tony blinked, unsure he’d heard correctly. “You mean like… The first time we slept together?”

 

“No,” Bucky laughed. “There wasn’t much talking the first time we fucked. Can’t remember if we even laid down the rules until after. No, I mean the first time we met. In the hallway. S’gotta be somethin’ like ten years ago now. Do you not remember?”

 

Tony did remember. He remembered Bucky from back then, with short hair and a grin that didn’t have to be coaxed out of him. But the first time they’d spoken was something of a blur. The memory kept getting mixed up with the one of Bucky with blood gushing from his nose and staining his shirt; of Bucky snarling and swinging at Tony; of the pure hate that had been in his eyes when he’d stared up at Tony from the bottom of the stairwell. It was such a strange thing to compare to the man in front of him that was currently elbow deep in soapy water. As if to prove the difference, Bucky scratched at his ear distractedly and left behind a smear of bubbles.

 

Tony shook his head. “No, not really. A lot of things happened that day.”

 

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Bucky grumbled.

 

Tony stared down at his coffee and chewed on the inside of his cheek. It didn’t stop him from blurting out, “I’m sorry,” only a second later.

 

Bucky went rigid and for an awful moment Tony convinced himself that he’d managed to find one of those landmines again. He could already clearly envision the furious look, and stared warily at the spatula that he strongly suspected was about to be wielded like a weapon.

 

“For what happened. I’m sorry,” Tony said again, ignoring the rage his younger self hurled at him from the corner of his memories. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I mean, obviously. But it was still reckless. And you didn’t deserve to carry the brunt of the damage just because I’m a fuck up. Or the blame. Howard was a dick long before you showed up.”

 

Tony paused to catch his breath, as he suddenly felt dizzy. Like the words had been yanked out of him with a fishhook and wire. He wasn’t sure he even believed it. It sure felt like he believed it. And that was the strangest part.

 

Bucky was staring at him again, wide eyed. His hands were still clutching something under the water, but his entire torso had twisted to face Tony as much as he could. Like Tony required his full, undivided attention. Or rather, what looked like his best impression of confusion. The bubbles on his jaw were still latched onto his stubble, but also traced along the grooves in his arm like a bizarre soapy vine and Tony laughed. He wondered what a younger Bucky would have thought of the Bucky Tony was looking at now.

 

“What? What are you laughing at?” Bucky’s brows drew together and he stared at Tony suspiciously. “Was that a joke?”

 

“No,” Tony shook his head. At least he didn’t think it was a joke. “Meant it. I think. It’s weird. Just… You’ve got bubbles right there, and--”

 

Bucky pawed at his cheek, more bubbles clinging to his face as thanks for his effort. “Did I get it?”

 

“You made it worse,” Tony said between peals of laughter. He gestured to his own face “It’s more over here-ish?”

 

Bucky scratched at the wrong cheek entirely, then pulled his metal hand away to stare at it, as if he expected to catch the bubbles in the act.

 

“No, no,” Tony shook his head and slid off the bar stool. He walked around the breakfast bar and reached out towards the offending bubbles. Bucky’s eyes widened and Tony paused. “May I?”

 

Bucky stared at him with an expression Tony couldn’t quite identify. Bucky nodded and Tony decided not to ruminate on it. He reached out and wiped away the bubbles on Bucky’s cheek, then scratching along his jaw until he could swipe away the initial suds with his thumb. He pulled his hand away, satisfied. Bucky gave him a quick, tight lipped smile and turned back to his washing. Tony made his way back to his seat.

 

“Oh! PDA.” Bucky said out of nowhere. He shot a glance at Tony. “Public displays of affection.”

 

“I know what PDA stands for,” Tony said, sighing. “I said my relationships never went well, not that I’ve never been in one.”

 

“Right,” Bucky nodded. “So what are you comfortable with?”

 

Tony blinked. “What?”

 

“PDA,” Bucky repeated. “You fussin’ over me made me realize I’ve got no idea what kinda PDA you’re actually comfortable with. I’d wing it but I would rather not accidentally make you uneasy. Might look bad in front of the cameras.”

 

“Oh,” Tony’s eyes widened in understanding. For the act. _Of course._ “Not sure. Pepper wasn’t big on PDA and no other relationship lasted long enough to find out. I kept most of the other dating attempts secret so I could root out the people who were in it for the money or networking. So there wasn’t much PDA opportunity, you know?”

 

Bucky hummed thoughtfully. He pulled the plug in the sink and grabbed the dish towel again to dry off his hands. “Makes sense. I know you don’t like holdin’ hands. So, what about arm around your waist?”

 

“That’s probably fine,” Tony said. Then he frowned. “What makes you think I don’t like holding hands?”

 

Bucky smirked. “You really don’t remember that first time we met, do you?”

 

Tony’s frown deepened.

 

“I tried to shake your hand when I introduced myself. You said you didn’t like being handed things,” Bucky looked up at the ceiling, miming the gesture as if it was helping him remember. “Said something about hands grossing you out. So I’m assumin’ that extends to hand holdin’.”

 

“Wow,” Tony said. “You’ve got a good memory.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Bucky looked amused. “Like you said. It wasn’t exactly an average day, Sparks.”

 

Tony’s heart skipped a beat at the petname and he was suddenly glad for the practice before appearing in front of the press. “You remember the whole conversation? Every word?”

 

“Mmhm,” Bucky nodded. He tucked the dish towel into the handle on the oven. “More or less.”

 

“Huh,” Tony concentrated, trying to think back to that day, to the hallway. “I just remember you standing there in the hall like a misplaced stack of bricks--”

 

“I was just walking to my apartment!” Bucky protested.

 

“--and that when I slammed into you, you didn’t even budge.” Tony grinned. “Did you even notice?”

 

“Did I notice the cute guy that looked like he’d just stuck his finger in an outlet?” Bucky snorted. “Yeah, you kinda stood out, Sparks.”

 

Tony pushed past the jitters this time, focused instead on trying to defend his own damn aesthetic. “I do not look like that!”

 

“You had so much energy!” Bucky went on like Tony hadn’t even spoken. “You talked and talked and--hey, hey don’t look like that. I thought it was charming. Until, y’know--”

 

Tony groaned, remembering with sudden unwanted clarity exactly how much he’d stuck his foot in his mouth. “The stalker comment. I remember.”

 

“And telling me my fingers were weird.”

 

“Oh my God.” Tony sank his head into his hands, pointedly ignoring Bucky’s laugh. “Listen, I was just off my game on account of having to change the world in under a month. Anyone would’ve been a little frazzled.”

 

He looked up at Bucky to see that damnable grin. The special one that meant Bucky was about to goad him into doing something stupid. “That so?”

 

“Yeah, that’s so. I could have charmed the pants off you in a split second if I had slept. And had eaten. And if I wasn’t preoccupied with creating the impossible.” Tony insisted. Bucky said nothing, still grinning like the bastard he was. Fuck it. He’d already made an ass of himself as many times over as was humanly possible. It wasn’t like Bucky was screaming and running for the hills yet. Why hold back now? “Y’know what? Come here.”

 

Tony hopped off his stool and gestured for Bucky to follow him into the living room proper. Tony’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the industrial pole, the corkboard with throwing knives stuck in it, Peter’s rucksack, and-- Hah! There. That would work. Tony scooped up an empty delivery box that had been sitting by the wall and shoved it in Bucky’s arms. Bucky blinked down at the box in surprise, then gave Tony a wary look.

 

“What’re you doin’?” Bucky asked.

 

But Tony was focused. He was dragging Bucky towards the bedroom door and positioning him just so outside of it. Tony frowned and took in the sight, then reached out and tilted Bucky a little more to the right.

 

“Close enough,” Tony said with a shrug. Before Bucky would ask him what the hell he meant, Tony opened the bedroom door, stepped inside and closed it behind him. He heard Bucky made a faint sound of protest and snickered. He waited a second then flung the door open and walked directly into Bucky.

 

This time, Bucky’s metal arm took the brunt of it and Tony winced, rubbing at his chest. But he still stared up at Bucky expectantly, gesturing for him to say his line. Bucky looked baffled for a second, then looked at the box in his arms, at Tony, at the bedroom door and then at Tony again and comprehension dawned. He visibly fought away a grin.

 

“Are you alright?” Bucky asked, one eyebrow raised in obvious amusement. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

 

Tony squinted, scouring his memory. “I’m fine. I think.”

 

“So charming already!” Bucky teased. But he still set the box down and kept humouring Tony. He stuck his hand out like he meant to shake Tony’s hand and grinned challengingly. “Hi. Bucky.”

 

The challenge was a mistake. Tony Stark never backed down from a challenge. And that hand stuck out defiantly was enough to rattle his brain into a functioning state. So Tony stepped forward and shook Bucky’s hand firmly, delighting in the surprise on Bucky’s face. Tony smiled sweetly, looking up at Bucky through his lashes.

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Bucky. I’m Tony,” he said with a small nod. He let his hand linger on Bucky’s for just a split second too long, and caressed his wrist when he let go. He feigned a thoughtful frown. “It’s odd, though.”

 

“What is?” Bucky asked, narrowing his eyes over his grin like he was expecting a stupid pick-up line.

 

And who was Tony to disappoint?

 

“They never mentioned gorgeous neighbors as a perk of living here,” Tony kept a straight face only through a small miracle of willpower while Bucky busted out laughing. “It’s a shame, really. I’m sure you’ve doubled the value of the building just by being in it.”

 

“Oh, _God_ ,” Bucky wheezed. “Does that shit ever actually work? Or do you just get used to the drinks gettin’ thrown in your face?”

 

“That depends,” Tony let his voice drop a bit lower and stepped into Bucky’s space again. He trailed his fingers lightly down Bucky’s right arm, mimicking the move he had used on Tony earlier to tug Bucky’s hand forward and up between them. But instead of placing the hand on his hip, Tony laced their fingers together gently and twisted so that he could press a soft kiss to the back of Bucky’s knuckles. “Is it working now?”

 

Bucky’s eyes darkened and Tony felt his pulse kick up in response but he didn’t let go of the other man’s hand. He just watched as Bucky assessed him, crooked grin tugged to the side and threatening to spill into another laugh. The lightest of flushes crept across Bucky’s cheeks and nose, so Tony kissed his knuckles again.

 

Not to be outdone, Bucky winked at him and bit his lip in the way that drove Tony crazy. “Dunno, Tony. Why don’t you tell me what’re you tryin’ to sweet talk outta me?”

 

Tony grinned and he realized he was having fun. The realization struck an odd chord in him, but it was true. Flirting with Bucky was _fun_.

 

It came so naturally that Tony couldn’t believe he’d ever forgotten the details of their first meeting. Couldn’t believe he’d forgotten how flirting with Bucky was like a dance, or how Bucky would match each of his moves with his own. There was no bashfulness to the other man. None of the cautious testing that Tony had run into with other people. Bucky just dove directly into the thick of it without hesitation, although those sharp eyes made Tony wonder how much of it was intuition and how much was calculated risk.

 

“Told you,” Tony said, clearing his throat and trying to match Bucky’s flirtatious grin to hide the gooey fondness that kept trying to creep over his expression. “Though maybe you’re just easy.”

 

“Not easy,” Bucky tilted his head. “Just know what I want.”

 

Tony’s heard jumped traitorously in his chest. He laughed and let go of Bucky’s hand. He stepped back so that he could lean on the door frame. When he looked up again, Bucky was watching him curiously.

 

“It’s a shame how that day went,” Bucky said, looking off to the side and running fingers through his hair absently. “Think we mighta been friends, otherwise. Y’know?”

 

Tony swallowed and told himself that he wasn’t leaning against the doorframe for support. He was just tired. “It’s not too late. We could still put the friends back into friends with benefits.”

 

Bucky’s gaze snapped back to him and Tony had to will himself not to squirm under the intensity of it. “Look’it you, Sparks. Already got me to marry you and now you’re thinkin’ we could be friends?”

 

“What’s a little bit of international crime between fake husbands that couldn’t be shared between friends?” Tony replied cheerfully. He ignored the way Bucky had dodged the question. And the way his own pulse pounded at his temples. “Though I’m afraid I can’t afford you if I have pay extra.”

 

Bucky laughed and wrapped his arms around himself. “Not sure you should be the one payin’. I’ve been told I can be _challenging_.”

 

“Try me,” Tony said with way more ease than he felt. “I’m a 32 year old drug dealer who’s being blackmailed into weapons smuggling. I’m about to put an eighteen year old kid in danger ‘cuz I can’t figure out how to keep him safe. I use my college diploma as a coaster and haven’t spoken to my family in years because I’m such a fuck up that they cut me out entirely. The only friends I’ve got in the state are the robots I built for myself. And I think DUM-E might be mad at me.”

 

But the jokes didn’t have the reassuring and lightening effect Tony wanted. Bucky’s expression sobered quickly and he stayed silent long enough to remind Tony exactly how nervous he was. He didn’t know why he was nervous. None of this was news to Bucky.

 

Tony nearly flinched when Bucky moved towards him and Bucky seemed to pick up on Tony’s nerves, which just made it worse. Bucky’s hands took his slowly, his eyes on Tony’s and giving him plenty of time and room to pull away. When Tony didn’t, Bucky squeezed.

 

“I’m a 33 year old stripper who’s down a limb. I just married a guy for money because I think it might be my only chance at completing law school without dipping into prostitution,” Bucky spoke quietly and Tony couldn’t look away. “I haven’t made any new friends since middle school that I didn’t lose during the accident. The only person I’ve got left is Stevie and I’m pretty sure his husband hates me for asking so much from them. For callin’ every time I can’t get my mind to settle. So, y’know. Just about every night.”

 

Bucky watched his own hand as he brushed his cool metal fingertips across Tony’s forehead, and tucked a stray curl behind Tony’s ear. “And y’know what’s worse?” He asked.

 

“What?” Tony’s voice was barely over a whisper.

 

“Ain’t even sure I wanna be a lawyer.” Bucky laughed, but the humour didn’t reach his eyes. “Always wanted to do the right thing. To make a difference, y’know? Like Stevie’s doin’. He’s out there workin’ for the CIA, being the big hero I could never be. But I could still be a fireman. Or police officer. Or somethin’. ‘Stead, I’m hiding from the real danger of it all behind stacks of paperwork and fancy suits my clients could never afford. And I got the nerve sometimes to think that I might be one of the good guys.”

 

Bucky shook his head and met Tony’s eyes with an odd expression. Guilt broiled over in Tony’s gut, burning and acidic. He didn’t give into the urge to let his eyes close, didn’t let himself lean into Bucky’s hand this time.

 

“And now you’ve been dragged into an international smuggling gig,” Tony muttered. He looked down at the floor. “You shouldn’t have to do this. Just stay here. Keep Peter with you. I’ll give you the 70k anyway. It’s the least I can do after I’ve fucked up so much of your life--”

 

Bucky’s hand slid down Tony’s face to curl a finger under his chin. The grip tugged Tony’s face back up, making him meet Bucky’s gaze for a brief moment before his lips covered Tony’s. Tony’s eyes did close then.

 

The kiss was light, almost chaste, like Bucky was worried even the slightest movement could spook Tony. He kissed Tony like he was made of something precious. The finger under his chin shifted until Bucky could hold Tony’s jaw gently. His other hand rested softly on Tony’s waist and held him still so that Bucky could pull away again.

 

Tony’s eyelids were heavy, sticky almost, and he didn’t want to to open them and let whatever that was go. But he did, because the world was an awful place where peace and happiness were fleeting, and swallowed the protesting noise in his throat. He tried instead to give Bucky his most confident grin.

 

“Was that more practice? Here I was thinking we’ve had plenty of experience with the physical side of being a couple.” Tony teased. Bucky huffed and moved to pull away, but Tony snaked an arm around the Bucky’s waist and held him close before he could step back. “Not that I mind. I much prefer this kind of practice over talking about my quality of character--or lack thereof.”

 

Bucky frowned as he dragged the flat of his thumb over Tony’s bottom lip. “Wasn’t practice.”

 

“Oh?” Tony breathed the word. He used it as an excuse to lick and kiss teasingly at the thumb. The hitch in Bucky’s breath told Tony that he didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Mm,” Bucky’s lips were parted and he was still focused with laser intensity on Tony’s lips. He spoke absently. “Was more of a cheer up attempt. S’what friends do, right?”

 

Tony paused in his ministrations and grinned, which turned into a snicker, then a full on laugh.

 

“What?” Bucky smiled back.

 

“Friends? Giving kisses?” Tony prompted, watching Bucky for the moment of realization. “To cheer each other up?”

 

Bucky’s eyes flew wide open and he stammered, “Wait, hold on, no--”

 

“Wow, Bucky,” Tony said in a lazy drawl.  “Didn’t realize you and your buddies were that close. Explains a lot, actually.”

 

“That’s not what I meant, oh my God--”

 

“You can’t just go around smoochin’ people to fix the blues. That’ll get you some pretty serious assault charges,” Tony said, the picture of seriousness. “Plus imagine the confusion in your social groups. Disastrous.”

 

“‘Least it shuts you up for a goddamn second,” Bucky growled.

 

Tony’s heart leapt up into his throat. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, tugging a little roughly on the curl he’d been toying with.

 

Tony hummed appreciatively and leaned forward to press his lips to Bucky’s again. He ran his tongue lightly across the sensitive skin there and slid inside when Bucky’s lips parted. He moved his grip around Bucky’s waist down, both hands digging into Bucky’s ass so he could Bucky forward roughly. Bucky rolled his hips against Tony’s and groaned. Tony swallowed the sound.

 

“Go on then,” Tony teased, pulling back his lips just out of reach and delighting at the flash of irritation in Bucky’s eyes. “Shut me up, Buck.”

 

Tony barely kept himself upright as Bucky’s metal arm scooped up under his knees without warning, his other arm coming around to support Tony’s back. He yelped into the crushing kiss Bucky pulled him into, as his arms quickly wrapped around Bucky’s neck and he held on for dear life. Bucky moved them into his bedroom, shoving the door open with his foot so hard that it slammed against the wall; Tony didn’t even bother pretending he wasn’t thoroughly into the roughness. Especially when he started falling, head going light and dizzy for just a moment before his back hit the soft mattress.

 

He lifted up his head, confused at the lack of Bucky-shaped weight on top of him. He looked up and saw Bucky tug his shirt off, tossing it to the side carelessly. His hands dropped to the button on his pants, but his eyes stayed locked on Tony.

 

Well. Tony had certainly never claimed that he was any good at resisting his vices.

 

He pushed himself up to his knees and shuffled over to the end of the mattress to swat Bucky’s hands away. Tony paused, his fingers still lightly tracing over the seams of the mechanical hand when he had an _idea_. He grinned up at Bucky, who was staring at him with dark eyes and parted lips, never daring to break eye contact as Tony brought the metal closer to his lips. He started by pressing a kiss to Bucky’s thumb, purposefully aiming for the pressure plate he knew was under the seam of the first knuckle.

 

Bucky sucked in a breath, brows furrowing when Tony ran his tongue along the digit before wrapping his lips around it entirely.

 

“Don’t know if I’ll ever get tired of that mouth of yours,” Bucky’s voice rumbled, but Tony paid it no mind.

 

He was focused on lavishing attention on Bucky’s thumb, soon replaced by two of Bucky’s fingers when Tony’s free hand made quick work of the pants between him and his prize. A low moan rewarded him for his efforts, cutting off sharp and surprised when Tony quit palming Bucky over the fabric of his boxers and instead tugged the fabric away entirely. Bucky hissed at the cold air, and pulled his fingers away from Tony’s mouth. Tony whined, and found Bucky’s smirk unsympathetic.

 

“C’mon doll, lemme see you,” Bucky coaxed, kneeling down onto the mattress so that he could lick into Tony’s mouth and chase him back down until he was pressed flat on his back.

 

Bucky scraped his fingers up Tony’s sides, making him shiver, and shoved Tony’s shirt up over his chest, over his head, until he could toss it out of the way. Tony’s back curved to speed up the process. He wanted to toss his head back and lose himself to the pressure of Bucky’s thigh pressed between his legs, but the fingers toying along the waist of his pants pulled him back to his senses. He reached down and grabbed Bucky’s wrist to stop him. Bucky frowned and Tony nearly caved then and there. But miracle of all miracles, he managed to stay strong enough to press a reassuring kiss to Bucky’s open palm.

 

“Not yet,” Tony said.

 

Tony lifted himself off the mattress and kissed Bucky as he guided their movements until he was straddling Bucky’s thighs, letting his weight fall just a bit lower than where Bucky wanted it. Tony shifted his hips and let himself grind up against Bucky’s thighs. The friction wasn’t nearly enough. Tony moaned and let his head loll forward. He had his hands on Bucky’s hips to keep himself stable, but couldn’t resist wrapping one around the beautiful flushed cock he’d been thinking about since his night at the Red Room. Bucky whined at the touch, trying to thrust up into the pressure. 

 

Tony tore his eyes away from the writhing mess beneath him to check on glazed blue eyes that were watching him like he was the key to survival; hungry, desperate, and wanting.

 

“You were saying something about my mouth,” Tony teased, flicking his wrist and squeezing over the head. Bucky’s jaw dropped and his eyes fell shut as he moaned. Tony slid his thumb over the top of Bucky’s cock, collecting slick pre-come as he went and bringing his hand to his lips to lick it off. Bucky’s eyes opened again just in time to watch Tony suck the last drop away. Tony grinned. “Was there something in particular you wanted me to use it for? Or was that just sweet nothings?”

 

“Want your mouth on me,” Bucky panted. He sat up enough to reach for Tony’s face and pull him in for more kisses. When he spoke again it was growled against Tony’s lips between flicks of tongue and sharp bites. “Wanna see those lips stretched around me. Fuck, when you dropped to your knees while I was performin’? Hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen. Wanted to stuff your mouth full right then n’ there. Barely restrained myself.”

 

“Then it didn’t work as well as I hoped,” Tony pulled away from the kiss, humming contentedly as he shifted back down Bucky’s body until he could sink his teeth into the skin just above Bucky’s hipbone, run his tongue over the bite soothingly, then blow cold air on top of it. That ripped a low guttural sound from Bucky’s throat as his back arched up off the bed. Tony stared up at Bucky through his lashes, grinning into the kisses he trailed over Bucky’s inner thigh. He nuzzled closer to where Bucky wanted him, just close enough so that his breath warmed Bucky’s skin.

 

“Was that what you wanted?” Bucky pushed up on his elbows to watch Tony with a lazy grin. “For me to feed you my dick in front of all of those people? Bet you would’a done it too. Would'a made a damn show of it.”

 

The thought made Tony’s already too-tight pants nearly painful and he has to rest his head on Bucky’s thigh so that he can reach down and unbutton himself. He tugged the zipper down too and couldn’t resist running his hand over himself, not with his nose pressed against Bucky’s skin and his own lips inches away from the beautiful thick cock in question. Tony moaned into a kiss at the junction of Bucky’s thigh, licking closer and closer with tiny flicks of his tongue. He dipped his own fingers under the waistband of his boxers and palmed himself roughly just as he finally sucked Bucky into his mouth, and moaned louder at the sensations. He couldn’t move as well without his hand free to support him but the warm heavy feel of Bucky’s cock thrusting up in tiny barely restrained movements was more than enough to persuade him that his own erection could stand to wait.

 

Tony bobbed his head a couple times, hollowed out his cheeks and moaned before letting the cock slide out of his lips with a wet pop so he could reposition himself. He shimmied backwards, pulling Bucky’s hips until his legs hung over the side of the mattress and Tony knelt on the floor. His mouth watered at the sight of the already partially wrecked Bucky but he still wanted more. Wanted to make him fall apart at the seams. Wanted to say thank you for marrying him, to apologize for hurting him, to prove that he was sincere in wanting to learn how to be Bucky’s friend. Wanted to say everything with his touch that he couldn’t hammer out in his mind, couldn’t force off the tip of his tongue.

 

And he had so much better uses for his mouth than speaking.

 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Bucky’s head fell back when Tony swallowed him down as far as he could. He wrapped his hand around the rest of the shaft and stroked lightly. He breathed in slowly to adjust to the pressure in his throat, then shoved more and more of Bucky past his lips as soon as he could take it. Bucky stared down at him in awe. “God, lookit you, Doll. So pretty like this. _Fuck_. Anyone else know how eager you are to get a cock in your mouth?”

 

Tony hummed low against Bucky’s skin, staring up at him in lieu of an actual response. Bucky’s metal hand stroked at Tony’s stretched cheek, thumb tracing just outside his lips to smear some of the spit leaking away from Tony’s efforts. Tony preened at the attention and forced himself to sink down further, nearly able to press his nose to Bucky’s pelvis. Tony slid his hand out of his way and smoothed his palm over Bucky’s hipbone. With his eyes squeezed closed, Tony could focus only on his own breathing and relaxing his throat.  He stayed down as long as he could with his lower jaw hanging slack. More slick spit fell from his lips and Tony would’ve bet his bots that the mess looked incredible on Bucky.

 

“That’s right, sweetheart, take it,” Bucky’s voice sounded choked, but still far too coherent.

 

Tony kept his eyes closed, and focused on his breathing when he squeezed his hands under Bucky’s ass and pulled him closer. Bucky thankfully took the hint and thrust up into Tony’s throat. It was just small movements, but enough to drag his cock against Tony’s tongue, enough to drag another rumbling groan out of Bucky’s chest that Tony felt more than he heard. Bucky’s metal thumb pressed into Tony’s mouth beside his cock and Tony shuddered violently.

 

“Still hungry for more, ain’tcha?” Bucky said and Tony could hear the grin. “Such a pretty little slut.”

 

Another thrust, one that was a bit deeper and finally made him choke. Tony pulled off with desperate gasp for air. He looked at Bucky through tear blurred eyes as he tried to catch his breath. Bucky still supported himself on his right elbow but his arm was shaking with the effort. Not that he paid it any mind as he slid two metal fingers back into Tony’s mouth as soon as Tony caught his breath. Tony moaned around the taste and rolled his hips against the side of the mattress.

 

“Sometimes I think you like this arm more than my dick,” Bucky said with a sly look. “I catch you lookin’ all the time. Can’t help it, can you? You got no idea what that does to me, do you?”

 

Tony sucked the fingers clean, pulled off, and ran his tongue over swollen lips. He grinned. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

 

“‘Course you do, genius,” Bucky laughed a little and pulled Tony in for another kiss. He moved spit slick fingers down Tony’s bare chest, leaving trails of cold as he moved. Bucky hooked one of his fingers in Tony’s pants and boxers and tugged roughly, until the fabric slid down. Just being released from pressure was enough to make Tony whine long before Bucky wrapped those shining fingers around him and stroked. “So beautiful. You’re unreal, Sparks.”

 

Tony shivered at the pet name. He fell forward a bit into Bucky’s chest and rested his forehead in the crook of Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s strokes were slow and torturous. He aligned Tony’s cock with his own so Tony could grind up against him. Tony thrust against him once, twice, and relished the needy sounds it pulled from Bucky both times.

 

“C’mon, Tony,” Bucky’s voice was rough and right in his ear. Tony thrust again. “Know you wanna. Wanna see you fall apart.”

 

The words jump started his brain and Tony pulled back immediately. He grinned at the keening sound Bucky made and shooed away the metal hand trying to coax him closer.

 

“Nah, I’m not done with you,” Tony promised, pressing a quick kiss to Bucky’s lips. Tony stood and kicked off his pants, ignoring Bucky’s protests.

 

He darted into Bucky’s bathroom and spent only seconds rifling through the drawers for lube, but when he stepped back into the bedroom he froze.

 

Bucky’s feet were planted firmly on the floor, his hips lifting up rhythmically as he thrusted into his fist. The metal hand alternated between pinching at tugging at Bucky’s nipples, to sliding up his neck and carding through long hair and pulling. He squirmed against his own touch and his movements got shaky. Cold blue eyes found Tony’s before Bucky’s mouth dropped open and soft around a silent moan.

 

“ _Holy shit,_ ” Tony breathed.

 

“You took too long,” Bucky said as his eyes closed, long lashes dusting his cheeks pretty like a painting.

 

“Still got work to do if you’re still talking,” Tony growled. He tossed the bottle of lube to Bucky, who’s hand left his dick to catch it. Tony fell back down to his knees and ran his hands up and down Bucky’s thighs. “Turn over, beautiful. I have an idea.”

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. “This idea of yours gonna be more teasin’?”

 

Tony didn’t answer. Instead he grabbed Bucky’s cheeks and dragged his nails across the soft flesh leaving thin red marks. He traced over the them lightly, then leaned down to kiss them. He let his fingers slide around Bucky’s hips and tugged him up off the mattress. Bucky got the message and propped himself up on his knees, his chest still resting heavy on the quilt. His hair splayed out to the side, curled over the arm he rested his head on and he stared over his shoulder at Tony. He looked like he was about to say something else. Tony waited until his lips parted and he could see the intake of breath to smirk at Bucky and slide down to the floor.

 

Tony flipped over onto his back and positioned himself so the mattress cradled his head just so he could lick a stripe up Bucky’s leaking cock. Bucky made a startled sound that turned into a loud moan and Tony grinned as he flicked his tongue over the slit. He reached his arm up between them and batted at Bucky’s side, making grabby motions. The bottle of lube was placed wordlessly in Tony’s open hand and already Tony knew this was going to be one of his better ideas if it shut Bucky up that fast.

 

The bottle of lube popped open with a quiet click and Bucky shuddered above him in anticipation. Tony coated his fingers and set the bottle aside. He braced his hand on the floor next to him, reaching up around Bucky’s hips with slick fingers.

 

“Promised I’d charm you, didn’t I?” Tony said, pressing kisses along Bucky’s shaft and circling his hole with feather light touches. “You feeling charmed yet?”

 

“F-Fuck,” Bucky’s groan was muffled, like he was biting down on something. Tony felt triumphant. “God, please, Tony, please--”

 

“Please, what?” Tony said innocently.

 

He pressed against Bucky’s hole a little harder, driving Bucky’s cock back into his mouth. Tony sucked and bobbed his head until Bucky’s moans sounded just the right amount of broken before he pressed inside. Bucky’s hips jerked forward and Tony swallowed him down as best he could. He rolled his tongue over the head and teased at the slit, encouraging Bucky to keep up with the shaky thrusts of hips with shallow fingering. Tony only barely had worked his index finger all the way in when the soft pleas and whimpers from Bucky started to lose coherency.

 

“Oh, just like that baby,” Bucky gasped at Tony crooked his finger just so. “God, that mind of yours; holy _fuck_. Goddamn _brilliant_ idea. M’so close, Tony. You feel so goddamn good, you got no idea--!”

 

Tony spread Bucky’s cheeks wide as best he could with the four fingers he wasn’t pumping in and out of Bucky’s hole and settled into a comfortable rhythm. The thick thighs on either side of his head were shaking visibly and Tony hummed his approval along Bucky’s cock as he started to suck in earnest.

 

“Shit, Tony, if you keep-- _fuck_!” Bucky whined. He alternated between trying to push back onto Tony’s finger and thrusting forward into Tony’s mouth. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Tony, _please_ , babydoll I _need--_ ”

 

Tony worked a second finger past Bucky’s rim and moaned around the cock nudging the back of his throat as Bucky started to lose control. A litany of babbled praise tumbled from Bucky’s lips, slurring together pet names and pleading into something unintelligible. Tony recognized a couple words of warning seconds before Bucky fell apart above him with a sharp cry. Tony fucked his fingers into Bucky through it and kept licking and swallowing around his slowly softening cock until Bucky pulled away harshly.

 

“Too much,” Bucky moaned into the quilt.

 

Tony pulled his fingers free and shuffled out from under Bucky’s hips. Bucky collapsed fully. His legs went slack and his whole body jerked at the contact with the bed. Tony grinned down at his handiwork. He stroked his hands gently down Bucky’s sides and traced patterns into flushed skin.

 

“I think we can go ahead and consider ourselves friends,” Tony said thoughtfully. “What do you think, Buck? Was that friendly enough for you?”

 

Bucky groaned in response and Tony couldn’t tell if it was still reactionary to his orgasm or to the joke. He wiggled his hips slightly under Tony’s touch and adjusted himself so he could look back at Tony.

 

“Whadda ‘bout you?” Bucky slurred. His eyelids hung heavy, face flushed a pretty shade of red.

 

Tony wrapped a hand around his own leaking cock and shivered into the touch. He let a low moan escape his lips, purposefully writhing where he knelt to put on a bit of a show. He grinned down at Bucky and bit his lower lip, “I think I know how to handle it from here.”

Bucky frowned and shuffled into position where he could see Tony easier. Then he affixed Tony with that damnable pout. Tony swore as he jerked himself off. He already knew damn well he was about to cave in to whatever it was Bucky was about to demand. Still, the low Brooklyn drawl--all warm and fucked out--combined with the pleading look hit Tony somewhere under the sternum.

 

“C’mon, Sparks,” Bucky purred. “Ain’t you s’posed to be charmin’ me?”

 

Tony huffed a laugh. “Have I not?”

 

Bucky shifted to look at the clock on his wall. “Well, we got about an hour til Hammer shows.”

 

“Is that supposed to be sexy?” Tony scowled.

 

“What I’m sayin’,” Bucky spoke slowly and looked back at him with an eyebrow raised, “is that you got about forty-five minutes to fuck me.”

 

Tony’s breath caught in his throat and Bucky’s grin was absolutely filthy.

 

“But,” Tony argued but he was already massaging Bucky’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart and running a finger reverently over his hole. “Could get interrupted. Hammer might show up early. Peter might--”

 

“Maybe you ain’t hearin’ me right,” Bucky said coolly. He shuffled forward a bit on the mattress away from Tony’s touch so that he could crawl back onto his hands and knees. Except he let his chest sink back down into the soft quilt, rested his head on folded arms, and spread his knees just a little bit wider. “What I’m sayin’ is that if we get tossed in jail at the border? I better still be sore when we _make bail._ ”

 

Whatever the hell was left of Tony’s resolve flew out the window He snatched the bottle of lube off the floor and coated his fingers liberally, letting the excess drip down onto Bucky’s crack. Bucky rolled his hips and gasped softly when Tony shoved two fingers back inside of him. Tony aligned himself and pressed his cock against the slick skin. He groaned and barely kept up his rhythm. He picked up pace and tilted the angle of his thrusts until Bucky was letting out breathy whines again.

 

When he slid in a third finger, Bucky was moaning at the top of his lungs. No words this time, just low wrecked sounds matched with shaky shoulders and hands fisted in the red quilt.

 

“C’mon, _c’mon_ ,” Bucky keened and pressed his hips back to meet each thrust of Tony’s fingers. “M’ready. I c’n take it, Tony, please--”

 

Tony pulled his fingers out and kept one hand spreading Bucky wide while he guided the head of his cock into that tight, slick heat. He’d only pushed the tip in and already he wanted to fall pliant over Bucky’s back and let himself tip over the edge. But Bucky was still pleading, whispering filthy nonsense and begging Tony to keep going. Tony was pretty sure this was going to be what killed him; and _oh_ , what a way to go.

 

Despite Bucky’s demands, Tony pushed in slowly, and waited to let Bucky adjust when he bottomed out. Bucky’s back was slick with sweat and he was shaking again. He was still making noise, but Tony couldn’t make out any of it anymore.

 

“Y-You alright?” Tony asked shakily.

 

“Christ, _Tony_ ,” Bucky groaned. “You waitin’ for a written invitation? _Fuck me._ ”

 

Tony snickered, then slid himself most of the way out before slamming home. Bucky _wailed_ with each thrust, loud enough that Tony was sure they’d just alerted the entire city to their activities. But Tony didn’t care. He was still stuck on the memories from the Red Room, of Bucky’s hands tugging his hair, of Bucky writhing in his lap. Tony returned the favor as he carded his fingers through Bucky’s long hair and yanked him back hard.

 

Bucky’s back bowed as his head jerked back and his mouth was slack, lips bright red and curved around silent moans. The sound of skin slapping on skin was hypnotic, but Tony was determined to bring Bucky over the edge with him. He could already hear the tell-tale high pitched whines between moans, could already see how badly Bucky was shaking. Tony pulled Bucky’s hair harder, forcing him up into a half-kneeling position and wrapping his other arm around Bucky’s chest. He clawed at the skin and bit at Bucky’s neck while pinching and flicking a nipple between his fingers.

 

“Oh fuck, _fuck--_ ” Bucky’s eyes flew open and he was coming again in quick spurts.

 

Tony let him fall back down to the bed and started pounding into him in earnest. Bucky’s moan was pitiful and Tony finally tipped over the edge. He pulled himself roughly out of Bucky and let himself come on the broad back beneath his fingers. Shivers tore through him like jolts of electricity, and he pitched forward as his limbs failed him by turning immediately to jelly.

 

He landed with his nose pressed between sweaty shoulder blade and could feel the sticky mess on Bucky’s back spread onto his own stomach but nothing in the world could have convinced him to move.

 

They stayed like that, tangled up in each other, until their breathing slowed and Tony could hear past his own pulse. Bucky’s shoulders shifted beneath him and Tony mumbled something vague in protest. Bucky chuckled.

 

“C’mon, Sparks. Gotta get up. We’ve got crime to commit and I ain’t leavin’ this apartment without a shower,” Bucky shifted again, rocking Tony off his back in the process. Tony fell to the side of him and breathed out a satisfied sigh when his back hit the mattress. But Bucky wouldn’t let him keep his eyes closed; wouldn’t let him succumb to the sweet heaviness that pulled on every muscle in Tony’s body. Bucky stroked his knuckles across Tony’s cheek and kept talking. “None of that. You actually got some sleep last night, so you’re takin’ first shift driving. Unless you want Peter drivin’ an RV.”

 

That woke Tony right back up. “You didn’t sleep?”

 

“Nah,” Bucky shook his head. He pushed himself back onto his knees before standing up and cracking his back. “Talked to Stevie for like. Three hours. That punk chatters like an old gossip.”

 

Tony huffed a laugh, ignoring the strange twinge in his gut at hearing the other man’s name while he was still coming down from his high. Bucky didn’t give him long to think on it. He nudged Tony’s thigh with his foot a couple times, pinching the skin between his toes. Tony yelped and sat up.

 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Bucky looked smug as all hell and Tony glowered up at him. “Now c’mon. Come shower with me.”

 

Tony pretended to think it over just to be a brat but a shower sounded heavenly. He’d been making do with quick clean ups in the bathroom since his apartment had been broken into. The thought of standing under warm water and breathing in steam was almost enough to tug a needy moan from his lips. He clamped down on that urge quickly and instead followed Bucky into the shower.

 

Bucky’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him under the water so he could hold him close and kiss him all slow and lazy. Tony melted into the touch and draped his arms over Bucky’s shoulders. When they finally pried themselves apart to start reaching for soap and shampoo, Bucky’s lips were curled into a smirk that Tony wanted to kiss away. Bucky watched Tony thoughtfully in that eerie way he did that made Tony feel like Bucky was reading him like an open book. Tony tilted his head to the side and quirked a questioning brow.

 

“So,” Bucky’s voice still had that fucked-out rasp to it and Tony nearly missed what he said because he was so focused on that instead of the actual _words_. “I think you successfully charmed me. That make us friends now?”

 

Tony’s heart skipped a few beats and his breath stuttered. He felt his eyes go wide and suddenly he was staring at Bucky like he was only just now seeing him. His kiss swollen lips stood out red against scarred pale skin and ice blue eyes watched him steadily from under eyelashes dotted with water droplets. The scars around his left shoulder stretch across his torso like the spikes of light from a star and his metal arm--the one Tony had made--casually worked conditioner into his long dark hair. The few skipped heartbeats turned into full on racing until Tony felt dizzy with it.

 

Oh no.

 

 _Oh no_.

 

Tony swallowed thickly and smiled. “Yeah. That makes us friends.”

 

“Good,” Bucky said and leaned forward to peck Tony’s lips; utterly unaware of the spike of electricity it sent up Tony’s spine. No, Bucky just rinsed out his hair and carefully guided himself around Tony so that he could step out of the shower, grab a towel, and leave Tony alone with his mutinous runaway heart in the shower that smelled like Bucky. Alone with the realization that he didn’t want to be just friends.

 

* * *

 

Bucky and Tony learned that Hammer had arrived when, instead of a text or a knock like a fucking polite human being, they heard sound of a car horn blaring out La Cucaracha. Because only Hammer could manage to revolutionize new ways to be that tacky.

 

(Bucky had looked alarmed, but Tony had just dropped his head in his hands and groaned.

 

“That’s your boss, huh?”

 

“ _Yep._ ”)

 

There was still no sign of Peter as they stepped out of the apartment to view the monstrosity of a vehicle. Tony dared to let himself hope that despite Peter’s dramatic declarations, he had in fact decided to give up on the venture. That didn’t mean that they didn’t plan on taking the rucksack of medical supplies, though. He supposed that was a good measure of his current grasp on morality: good enough to not want to endanger the life of an eighteen year old kid, but not so good that he was above stealing his stuff.

 

Already a small gaggle of paparazzi were snapping photos and trying to get a look inside the heavily tinted windows. But Hammer didn’t seem at all bothered by this, despite the literal (presumably) near-ton of illegal weapons and chemicals. He just straightened out his fancy suit and bounced down the stairs from the car door. He waved at the cameras as the door closed behind him. He clicked the key fob in his hand to lock the RV then tossed it at Tony.

 

Bucky’s gloved metal hand shot out to grab the projectile before it hit Tony square on the nose and put Hammer on the receiving end of one his iciest glares.

 

“Ah, you must be Mr. Barnes!” Hammer grinned. He feigned shock, faltered in his step and placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “Oh, excuse me! I meant _Mr. Stark_. Congratulations, you two.”

 

Tony forced a smile, digging deep to find the long underused skills needed to work a crowd and adjusted the huge hoodie he’d borrowed from Bucky. The sleeves kept falling over his hands, and he’d had to roll up the cuffs of the jeans he’d borrowed, so his best tactic here was to be as domestic and lovable as possible. No more playboy. Just a happy husband.

 

He glanced at Bucky and bitterly thought that feigning affection wouldn’t be as difficult as he had expected. That counted as a silver lining, didn’t it?

 

“Wonderful to see you, Justin,” Tony tilted his eyebrows up and walked towards Hammer with his arms stretched out wide. Hammer briefly looked suspicious before he let himself be pulled into a hug. Tony made sure to stand up on tippy toes to help paint the picture of soft, cute, and _harmless_. “It’s really been too long. And you didn’t have to do this, really! We could have figured out our own transportation--”

 

“Nonsense! It’s my pleasure, really.” Hammer pulled out of the hug and flapped a hand at Tony. “Consider it my parting gift. I know we don’t often have time for each other--”

 

“Tragic,” Bucky said as he slid an arm around Tony’s waist possessively. Tony’s smile threatened to become a little bit more genuine.

 

Hammer spared Bucky on a glance and continued to talk right over him. “--and that precious free time only gets worse once you’ve added the old ball-and-chain, eh?”

 

Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes or curl his lip in disgust because this wasn’t his first goddamn rodeo. He tilted his head to the side and widened his eyes so he could blink in confusion first at Hammer, then Bucky, then Hammer again. The corner of Bucky’s lips twitched when their eyes met and he seemed to catch on when he gave Hammer a concerned frown of his own.

 

“Ball and chain?” Tony asked innocently.

 

Bright lights flashed and he heard the clicks of cameras and recording devices alike.

 

Team Stark: 1

 

Team Hammer: 0

 

“Aw, that’s cute. I tell you there’s nothing in the world like that puppy love. That’s how it always starts.” Hammer’s grin was predatory and way to white. Too much bleach and zero sincerity. “Gotta say, I’m a bit surprised! Mr. James here seemed to just show up out of thin air! Where have you been hiding him?”

 

To Tony’s surprised, Bucky answered first.

 

“I’m not hiding, Mr. Hammer,” Bucky said with a polite smile. “We just never felt the need to seek out the press, especially when it came to raising Peter. We wanted him to have as normal a life as possible.”

 

Bucky pressed a soft kiss to Tony’s still damp hair and Tony’s heart fluttered. He knew it was just an act for the cameras, but like hell if he wasn’t going to take his only chance at seeing what a relationship with Bucky could be like. Tony gave a helpless shrug and a smile to Hammer, nuzzled into his ( _temporary_ ) husband’s chest, and settled his hand over Bucky’s abdomen. Bucky squeezed the arm around Tony in response and brought his left hand forward to lace their fingers together.

 

It was odd, holding the mechanical hand through the leather glove, but Bucky had made a good point about the prosthetic drawing attention to scandal instead of their gooey cheesy love story. It just complicated things on a front they had no reason to concern themselves with. Thus, Bucky’s arm was entirely hidden under a thick hoodie from the flashes of the camera, and both hands were covered by traditional leather driving gloves.

 

“What can I say?” Tony looked up at Bucky with his best doe eyes. “Is there anyone that could say no to that face?”

 

“Aw, Sparks,” Bucky grinned back down at Tony.

 

The pet name felt hollow. Like it was a mask. Not actually meant for him. It turned the all too fresh memories of Bucky moaning the name under Tony’s hands into sharp barbs. Tony hid his reaction by pressing his face into Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“Quit it, you two!” Hammer laughed. He checked over his shoulder inconspicuously to see if the crowd of cameras and recorders had grown. Apparently satisfied, he shifted so that his face would be visible in all the photos and his expression sobered way too quickly. “You’re going to make me feel guilty about the bad news.”

 

Tony’s blood froze. “What? You’ve got bad news for us?”

 

“I do, Tones.” Hammer huffed a huge sigh of regret that might have been believable if every single thing about the man didn’t radiate _fake_. “See, I’m going to be running for office. Senate, actually!”

 

Tony gaped at him and pulled out of Bucky’s grasp a little. Hammer was using this moment to announce his candidacy. He was friend-dumping Tony on national television as a way to launch his campaign.

 

Sure enough, Hammer continued, “Now I know we haven’t been close for decades, Tones--I really only knew you through your father--and I know we drifted when you made some poor choices. You remember, don’t you?”

 

Next to him, Tony could feel Bucky stiffen.

 

“And unfortunately you just haven’t managed to crawl your way back into good graces,” Hammer stuck his lower lip out and Tony wanted to punch it. “Now, I know you can and will do it! You were always such a clever kid. I just wanted to give you a heads up that in the meantime, I can’t be a line of support for you. Not if I want to put the people of this state first. You understand, don’t you?”

 

Tony felt like he was 21 and stupid again. He could feel the heat of the arc reactor blast, could feel the shrapnel from the cheap IKEA tables as it cut holes in his suit and bruised him up badly. Bucky’s grip tightened and dragged him back down to Earth. Hammer was still talking.

 

“--don’t look like that, kiddo! I want you to keep the RV, okay? A token of good faith. I know you’ve got it in you to still be a star.” Hammer’s smile was back.

 

Then Hammer made an overwhelmingly stupid mistake. He stepped forward and tried to playfully punch Tony’s shoulder. Again, Bucky’s metal hand snapped out, this time catching Hammer’s wrist before he could make contact and twisting oh-so-slightly.

 

“No roughhousin’ with my husband, Mr. Hammer,” Bucky’s voice was ice cold and sticky sweet. “And you’ll understand if I disagree with your assessment entirely. My Sparks here is a kind and generous man. His heart’s always been too damn big for his chest--just took him a while to grow into it.”

 

Tony stared up at Bucky, stunned.

 

“He’s a good father, and,” Bucky paused, looked back down at Tony, “a good friend. He’s got nothin’ to prove to anyone.”

 

Hammer eyed them both. His gaze was calculating and for a split second it dragged the clever business man under the car-salesman cheer up to the surface to remind Tony how Hammer had managed to get so far; how he managed to stay in the game.

 

“Well I sure hope you’re right,” Hammer said with a sad smile oozing with condescension. “Family is just so important. It’s way past time for Tony to make nice with Howard, don’t you think?”

 

“I think any father willing to _abandon his own child--_ ”

 

“That’s enough,” Tony interrupted firmly. His voice didn’t shake and he counted it as a miracle. He plastered a smile across his face. “It’s my honeymoon! And the celebration of our decision to finalize Peter’s adoption. Can’t we save the family bickering until Thanksgiving at least?”

 

Hammer laughed again, but Bucky still didn’t relax. Tony squeezed their linked fingers, thinking _leave it be, Bucky,_ as hard as he could.

 

“Speaking of, where is the all-grown-up bundle of joy?” Hammer asked with an exaggerated look around the apartment complex.

 

As if summoned by the power of spite and the gods of good media coverage, Peter stumbled out of the door of his first floor apartment with a backpack slung over his shoulder that nearly tipped him off balance.

 

“Hey Dad!” Peter called, staring at Tony. “Do you know where I left my duffle? I know I packed it, but I can’t find it anywhere--”

 

“It’s still upstairs where you left it,” Bucky said. His voice was still tight. “Why don’t you put your bag down in the car and come help me carry our things, hm?”

 

Peter blinked at him, looked at Hammer, then back to Bucky. “Yeah! Yeah, sure, hold on.”

 

“Two apartments?” Hammer waggled his eyebrows and looked meaningfully up the stairs to the second floor apartment Tony and Bucky had come from. “You’re spoiling the boy.”

 

“I believe it’s important for Peter to learn who he is,” Tony said. He ruffled Peter’s hair as the kid passed within reach just to mess with him. Peter yelped in protest, and nearly dropped his backpack on Tony’s feet. He missed by only a couple inches. Tony grinned. “We wanted him to have some independence. They all leave the nest someday, and I know how stifling a looming presence over your shoulder can be.”

 

It probably wasn’t smart to levy a pot-shot at Howard at the moment, but Tony already felt a bit better.

 

“Sure, sure,” Hammer grinned. “All the distance of one floor, huh?”

 

Tony shrugged sheepishly. “I do still worry! I am a father, Justin. I want to be there for my son if he needs me. Is that so awful?”

 

“It’s touching,” Hammer cooed.

 

Tony heard the sound of Bucky’s apartment door closing and turned to see Bucky and Peter each carrying an assortment of packed bags. The rucksack, Tony’s backpack, Bucky’s backpack, and an extra suitcase dragged behind Peter that Bucky had insisted on stuffing with extra clothing and toiletries (‘ _We’re about to be criminals, Tony, not cavemen_ ’).

 

“Ready to go, Sparks?” Bucky called. He’d schooled his face back into a pleasant smile with just a tinge of frost around the edges.

 

Tony grinned back. “You know it, Bucket!”

 

“Aw, gross,” Peter said loudly, sticking out his tongue dramatically. “You guys aren’t gunna be like that the whole trip, are you?”

 

“You bet we are,” Bucky smirked.

 

Bucky paused as he passed Tony to touch a gloved hand softly to tony’s cheek. He gave Tony the widest, dopiest smile that made Tony’s heart do backflips, then leaned in and kissed him.

 

It was different from their kisses before. Slower, sweeter, and expecting nothing. Just the soft warm brush of lips with a hand gently cradling Tony’s jaw like he was something precious. Loving, Tony realized. The kiss was loving. Bucky kissed Tony like he loved him.

 

Tony’s knees felt weak as he kissed back. He tried to channel the thumping of his heart into each movement, tried to breathe the butterflies in his stomach into Bucky’s lips.

 

Bucky finally pulled back, but stayed close. His hand was still on Tony’s jaw and his thumb stroked his cheek lightly as Bucky made a big show of staring deeply into Tony’s eyes. _A show_ , Tony reminded himself. _This is a show. This isn’t real._

 

“Love you,” Bucky said.

 

_This is a show._

 

“Love you, too,” Tony replied.

 

_None of this is real._

 

“Hey, can one of you unlock the car?” Peter’s voice broke through the moment and Tony stared down at the ground, blinking rapidly. He looked up to see his fake son all but hanging off of the car door handle, his head tipped backwards so that he could peer at them irritably. “These bags are heavy and--”

 

The car alarm blared to life and Peter dropped from the handle like a stone, squawking as he hit the ground. Or, well, the pile of bags.

 

Bucky let go of Tony and fumbled in his pocket for the key fob, hurrying over to the RV and rapidly pressing buttons until the alarm shut off. He was grouching something at Peter, who grouched right back at him as Tony willed his body back to life. This trip was going to give him heart problems.

 

“Well,” Tony turned to Hammer with one last cheesy smile. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you when I see you, Justin.”

 

“Likewise,” Hammer replied, smiling back just as sunnily.

 

There was a slight narrowing to his eyes that Tony went ahead and counted as a victory. He sidestepped Hammer’s attempt to shake his hand and followed his fake family into the RV full of illegal weapons. And strangely, that part was the _least_ of his worries.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always remember: if I can make shit more complicated, _I will_.
> 
> Oh, and come join [the 18+ Winteriron server](https://discord.gg/A32YB6Y)! Don't get spooked by the welcome channel; that's just how we set up your account. Lurking is totally acceptable.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [tumblr](www.getmcfucked.tumblr.com) and yell about this stupid rarepair that has (fittingly) stolen my heart. 
> 
> Or come yell at me about ways I've maybe possibly stabbed you in the feelings on the [18+ winteriron discord server!](https://discord.gg/A32YB6Y) It's an awesome crowd of people and odds are real good that your fav authors/artists are there for you to yell at in real time. 
> 
> Perpetual thanks to beta-readers/writing coaches: [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango), [Lefty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHand/pseuds/LeftHand), and of course the infamous [Tsol](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorQui/pseuds/DoctorQui). 
> 
> In case you forgot, this whole thing is [Ivoughrie's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoughrie) fault.


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